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SERMONS. 



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SERMONS, 



JOHN BEAZER, D. D. 




BOSTON: 



WM. CROSBY AND H. P. NICHOLS, 
111 Washington Street. 
C 1849. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by 
John A. Brazer, 
the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



CAMBRIDGE : 
METCALF AND COMPANY, 
PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. 



CONTENTS. 
— 

PAGE 

MEMOIR ix 



SERMON I. 

HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY 1 

SERMON II. 

ANNIVERSARY SERMON 16 

SERMON III. 

SINS OF OMISSION 30 

SERMON IV. 

AUTUMN "... 45 



VI CONTENTS. 

SERMON V. 
INSINCERITY .... 

SERMON VI 

HUMBLE VIRTUES .... 



SERMON VII. 

MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT 

SERMON VIII. 

VALUE OF A DAY . . 

SERMON IX. 

PRESENCE OF THE INVISIBLE GOD IN HIS WORKS AND 
WAYS . . . . . . . 

SERMON X. 

PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT 

SERMON XI. 
WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS 



THE AUTHORITY 
TEACHER . 



SERMON XII. 
OF JESUS CHRIST, AS 



A RELIGIOUS 



CONTENTS. Vll 

SERMON XIII. 
THE APPARENT DARKNESS OF GOD'S PROVIDENCE . 211 

SERMON XIV. 

THE GREAT SALVATION .... 227 

SERMON XV. 
THE STILL, SMALL VOICE 237 

SERMON XVI. 

THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER ...... 250 

SERMON XVII. 

OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE . . . 290 

SERMON XVIII, 

UNDUE ANXIETY . 305 



DUDLEIAN LECTURE. 

REVIEW OF THE ARGUMENT IN SUPPORT OF NATURAL 

RELIGION . . - , 321 



MEMOIR. 



Johx Brazer was born in Worcester, Massachu- 
setts, September 21, 1T89. He received a com- 
mon-school education in his native town. Influ- 
enced by the expressed wishes of his parents, he 
entered a store in Boston. But his tastes led him 
to widely different pursuits, and in 1810 he entered 
Harvard University, having prepared himself to 
pass the necessary examination in the short space 
of nine months. 

Of his college life, a classmate and true friend 
thus writes : — " Upon joining the class of 1810, 
I found it large, and numbering within itself many 
who were highly gifted, some whose minds were 
matured, and many who were ambitious of literary 
distinction. 

" I soon became familiar with the class generally, 
and formed attachments more or less strong, as 



X 



MEMOIR. 



circumstances brought us into intimate association 
or the reverse. At this time, though only in the 
middle of the Freshman year, your father had taken 
his position. He was decidedly our first scholar ; 
and from this position the untiring efforts of many 
noble competitors could not drive him. In mathe- 
matics, his least strong point, he was excelled but 
by one, equalled only by another of our friends. 
In the languages, in composition, and especially in 
metaphysics, no one approached him. In fact, I 
may say that there was no second scholar, so great 
was the intervening space between himself and the 
rest. As we advanced in our course to the higher 
branches, he rose with the occasion, and his mind 
seemed to be more elastic the more pressure was 
placed upon it. His habits were in no way peculiar. 
He uniformly submitted to the laws of the Universi- 
ty, and was respectful to those under whose care 
we were placed. At the last exhibition of our 
Junior year, he kept the audience enchained by the 
elegance of his diction, the purity of his style, 
the modesty with which he received the manifesta- 
tions of their approbation, and gave the earnest of 
his future eminence, which, thank God, he lived to 
fulfil. 



MEMOIR. 



xi 



" At our Commencement, the most sanguine ex- 
pectations of the class were more than realized, 
and proud were we of our first scholar. 

" But, however elevated were the intellectual 
powers of my friend, they were surpassed by the 
excellence of his heart. My admiration and at- 
tachment to him were based upon what I then 
thought, and still believe to have been, his distin- 
guishing characteristic. He was much beloved by 
his class, and in difficulty each member sought his 
counsel and was sure of his sympathy. To him, 
then, belonged the rare faculty of commanding the 
admiration of those who could appreciate his powers, 
without exciting the enmity of those who often dis- 
parage that excellence to which they are unable to 
attain. My intimacy with him commenced early in 
life, and no cloud obscured it. I loved him to the 
last hour of his life with all the ardor of youth. 
His arrival at my abode was hailed as a green spot 
in my life, and my family loved him as a near 
relation. 

" The ways of Providence are inscrutable. Heart- 
rending was the sequel. But as it was not permit- 
ted to my friend to breathe his last in the bosom of 
his own household, I esteemed it a precious privi- 



xii 



MEMOIR. 



lege vouchsafed to me, to close the eyes of one I 
had loved so long and so tenderly." 

By the kindness of President Everett, I am en- 
abled to add the dates of some of the principal 
events of this part of my father's life. 

" At the summer exhibition, in 1812, your father 
delivered the English Oration. According to col- 
lege usage, this appointment indicated that his rank 
was already ascertained as one of the first scholars 
of his class. The subject of his performance was, 
' The Influence of Taste upon Character.' At the 
Commencement in 1813, he took his first degree 
with the highest honors of the University. The 
subject of his Valedictory was, ' The Influence of 
Fiction.' In 1815 he was appointed Tutor in Greek. 
He was also a Tutor in the Latin department, 
though I do not find the date of the transfer. 

" On taking his degree of Master of Arts in 
1816, he delivered the English Oration on behalf of 
his class. 

" In 1817, being then Latin Tutor, he was made 
College Professor in the Latin department, on the 
resignation of Professor Frisbie. In the same year 
he delivered the Anniversary Oration before the 
Phi Beta Kappa Society. He resigned his office of 



MEMOIR. 



xiii 



Latin Professor at the close of the academic year 
1819-20. 

" His rank and reputation as a scholar, the opin- 
ion entertained of him by the College Faculty, and 
the confidence reposed in him by the government of 
the University, are sufficiently shown by the above- 
mentioned facts." 

On leaving Cambridge, he accepted an invitation 
from the North Society in Salem, Massachusetts, to 
become their pastor, and was ordained November 
14th, 1820, He retained this office until his death, 
a period of twenty-six years. 

He was a member of the Board of Overseers of 
Harvard University, and his interest in this institu- 
tion remained strong to the last. 

In 1836, he delivered the Dudleian Lecture, and 
received the honorary degree of Doctor of Divinity. 

Of Dr. Brazer as a preacher, theologian, and 
ethical writer, I will not attempt to speak. Of his 
pastoral life, an impartial parishioner thus writes : — 
" I well know how deeply your father was interested 
in promoting the welfare of his charge ; and al- 
though at times a sense of his responsibility was 
overwhelming, and caused him to look upon all his 
efforts with a desponding eye, it produced no relax- 



xiv 



MEMOIR. 



ation in his labors, but rather increased the zeal 
with which he pursued them, under the pressure of 
wasting disease, even to the very verge of life. 

" The stroke which separated him from the beloved 
partner of his life, from her who had shared his joys 
and his sorrows, who had always consoled him in 
the dark hours of perplexity and trial, though it left 
him prostrate and crushed, and seemed to sever the 
principal tie that had bound him to society, concen- 
trated his efforts more entirely upon his pastoral 
duties, and made his study, the sick-room, and the 
abode of death places in which the energies of his 
body were occupied and exhausted. 

" The poor and the destitute were encouraged by 
his counsel, and where his own means failed to meet 
the liberality of his views, as the almoner of oth- 
ers he was enabled to relieve their wants ; and 
to those whom adverse fortune had visited with 
penury, he extended a supporting hand with so 
much delicacy, that they scarcely felt themselves 
indebted to his bounty. 

" The sick he comforted by his conversation and 
cheered with his attentions, while he opened to the 
dying such views of immortality as supported them 
through the valley which was darkening around 



MEMOIR. 



XV 



them. Deeply sensible of the efficacy of prayer, 
he sought to bring the heart of the sufferer before 
the throne of the Almighty, a humble and resigned 
offering to his holy will." 

But little remains to be added. In January, 
1846, Dr. Brazer's declining health induced him 
to try the effect of a change of climate. Ac- 
companied by his son, he visited the South. At 
first, the change of scene and the excitement of 
travelling produced a favorable turn in his disease, 
and hopes, well grounded, as it seemed, were enter- 
tained of his ultimate recovery. He was no sharer 
in these hopes, and the result proved him to be 
right ; for soon his complaints assumed a more ag- 
gravated form, and he knew that he must die. But 
death had no terrors for him ; it was but the portal 
through which he must pass to another and a better 
life ; he was now going home, — going to rejoin her 
whom he had so long mourned. He had reached 
the end of a long and wearisome journey, and glad 
would he be to obtain rest. 

His only regret was for his children, whom his 
death would throw unprotected on the world. 
But even in this his half-articulated prayer was, 
" Father, not my will, but thine, be done." 



xvi 



ME-MOIR. 



It was touching to behold the patience with which 
he endured the torture of his disease. In the mo- 
ments of greatest agony his half-uttered words were 
not of complaint, but of comfort to those around 
him. During the four hours preceding his death 
he was insensible ; still an angelic smile hovered 
around his face, and remained even in death. 

He died at the plantation of his true friend, 
Dr. Huger, February 25th, 1846, in the fifty- 
seventh year of his age, and, although far from 
his home and in a land of strangers, he received 
from them the kindest attention that a tender 
friendship, assisted by high medical skill, could 
give. 

W. S. B. 



SERMONS. 



SERMON I. 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY. 

BE NOT DECEIVED ) GOD IS NOT MOCKED : FOR WHATSOEVER A 
MAN SOWETH, THAT SHALL HE ALSO REAP. — Galatians vi. 7. 

I do not know that we can better begin the 
public religious services of the first Sunday of 
the opening year, than by attending to some re- 
flections on the religious responsibleness of men. 
It is, indeed, to all minds of only ordinary se- 
riousness, at all times, a solemn, I had almost 
said an awful, theme ; and it is one to which 
even the habitually unthinking may naturally 
recur, at a season like the present, when, by the 
lapse and the commencement of one of those 
larger spaces by which human life is measured, 
we are reminded that the season of effort is fast 
passing away, and the season of retribution is 
nigh at hand. 

1 



2 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY. 



Is it true, do we really believe, in any prop- 
er sense of the term, that " whatsoever," what- 
soever — every thing, be it what it may — that 
a man soweth, " that shall he also reap"? — 
that, in every conscious moment of our exist- 
ence, we are doing something to determine the 
character and condition of our being, when time 
and the opportunities of time shall be for ever 
passed, — the character and condition of that 
living, sentient being which we call ourselves, 
through ages after ages, when all material worlds 
and all material things shall have fulfilled their 
comparatively short mission, and be as if they 
had never been ? If we have made any adequate 
approach to this great thought, we shall feel the 
subject to be one of deep and overpowering 
solemnity, We shall not be able, we shall 
not be willing, to dismiss it from our thoughts, 
as one of those topics which it is very well to 
hear occasionally discussed, but which take no 
permanent hold upon the conscience and the 
heart. 

It will be my object, then, in the brief remarks 
now to be offered, not so much to prove the doc- 
trine of human responsibility, — for this, I sup- 
pose, would be wholly unnecessary to a vast pro- 
portion of those here present, — but to offer some 
explanations of the doctrine, particularly in refer- 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY. 3 

ence to its application and extent, which may- 
serve to give it its just impression and influence 
upon our minds. It is this impression, this sense, 
and not the knowledge of duty, that, in a state of 
society like ours, is most wanted. Any one of the 
leading truths of our religion, which we have lis- 
tened to from infancy, and admit almost as mat- 
ters of course, and which now may lie as a dead 
maxim in the mind, if properly felt in all its 
reach and import, — if properly realized, or made 
a real thing to the mind, — would work a change 
in the whole aspect of our community ; it would 
regenerate and inspire with spiritual life the 
whole moral being of many an individual, in a 
manner and to a degree of which he has not now 
even the slightest conception. Let us, then, en- 
deavour now to gain some sense, some adequate 
impression, of the religious responsibility of man. 

And, first, for what are we responsible ? The 
answer is, for our whole conduct, for whatsoever 
we do, so far as we are moral agents. And how 
far are we moral agents ? To the same extent 
as we have the power of freely willing and free- 
ly acting. And how far have we this power of 
freely willing and freely acting ? If we go to 
books and controversies for an answer, the sub- 
ject, will be much mystified, and we shall find 
small satisfaction in the result. But there is an 



4 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY. 



easier and more decided answer to be given. 
And this is to be found in every man's own bo- 
som. Every body knows he is free to choose and 
to act, and this is enough. No man can deny it 
without denying the dearest dictates of his own 
consciousness, and there is no authority that can 
control or impair this proof. It is in and of it- 
self decisive. Nothing can add to it. Nothing 
can take any thing from it. It is enough, it is 
decisive. No man can divest himself of it with- 
out doing violence to his nature. With reverence, 
but with entire confidence, be it said, it is the 
answer concerning free agency which God him- 
self has written on the human soul. 

Now in the same degree that a man is free to 
act, in that same degree is he a moral agent, in 
that same degree he becomes responsible for his 
conduct. And thus we arrive at the true and 
the whole doctrine of the religious responsibility 
of man. This would be so, had there been no 
express revelation on the subject. But there 
is an express revelation on the subject. The 
Bible is full of it, from beginning to end. It 
was taught to our first parents as their first les- 
son. It was taught to an early race, who were 
buried in an abyss of waters for their prac- 
tical disbelief of it. It was treasured up in the 
ark, which was itself a visible memorial of it. 



RESPONSIBILITY. 



5 



It was taught in the voice of many thunders at 
Mount Sinai. It was enforced by a thousand 
teachings and manifold rebukes to the Jews, at 
every step of their pilgrimage. It is continually 
declared and recognized by Jesus Christ, as by 
all his apostles. Yes. the Bible is full of it ; 
and I cannot understand the state of mind that 
does not perceive it on every page. 

But even this is not all. The Maker and 
Governor of men. in. I had almost said, an 
anxious solicitude to keep alive this great truth, 
has not only written it upon human hearts, not 
only declared it in a thousand different expres- 
sions, but He reminds men continually of it by 
the circumstances of human life. It is taught 
to every reflecting man every day, and every 
hour, by the events of his own individual histo- 
ry. All, all coincide in the same solemn assur- 
ance, — " Be not deceived : God is not mocked : 
for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also 
reap.' 5 So much for the basis of this solemn 
doctrine. 

I proceed now, in the hope of giving* some 
effect to this truth, to show, by some particu- 
lar examples, the extent of human responsi- 
bility. 

The difficulty here is to know where to begin. 
I may observe, first, that every man is responsi- 



6 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY. 



ble for the use and abuse of his own mind. He 
feels and knows that he has the power of im- 
proving and neglecting it ; and this, too, in both 
respects, to an indefinite degree. He can im- 
prove it ; he can enlarge it ; he can strengthen 
it ; he can mature it ; he can fill it with new 
thoughts ; he can endow it with new truths ; 
and raise it to a nearer and nearer resemblance 
to the Divine mind. How little is this distinct- 
ive part of man regarded in reference to its own 
improvement or its own account ! We often use 
our mind, as we do our hands, as an instrument 
to procure the objects we need or desire ; but 
think far too little that the cultivation of the 
mind itself, and for its own sake, is a high and 
an imperative duty. Each one, then, is respon- 
sible for the use of his mind, and for the best use 
of # it, for its improvement for its own sake ; and 
he cannot stand accepted in the presence of that 
Divine mind to which all other minds are con- 
tinually exposed, if he does not, to the extent of 
his ability, improve it, and give it to the best 
objects, by the best means. 

Again, a man is responsible to God for the use 
and abuse of his heart. He feels, he knows, that 
he has the power of improving or neglecting it, 
and this, too, in an indefinite degree. He may 
enlarge it, he may fill it with kind and gener- 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY, 



7 



ous sympathies, or he may narrow it, confine its 
beneficent tendencies, render it insensible and 
dead to all but mere selfish movements. 

Again, every man is responsible for his use or 
abuse of all the relations of life, in which he is 
bound to others. As a man, as a member of the 
great human family, as a citizen, as a fellow- 
Christian and worshipper, as a neighbour, as a 
friend, as a brother, as a husband, as a parent, 
he has peculiar and appropriate duties, which he 
may perform or neglect, and for the faithful dis- 
charge of each he is, at every instant of his con- 
scious being, held distinctly and directly respon- 
sible to the great Parent and Judge of men. 

Again, every man is responsible for the influ- 
ence he exercises over others. This, whether 
good or bad, is constantly going out, with or 
without our knowledge, upon those around us. 
As we cannot take a step without affecting the 
motions of the planet upon which we tread, or 
breathe one breath without giving a new im- 
pulse to the atmosphere in which we are im- 
mersed ; so there is an influence continually em- 
anating from every part of our conduct, which 
operates with a salutary or injurious effect upon 
others. A part of this influence is obvious and 
direct, but a far more important part of it is 
unknown and unsuspected, and is only to be 



9 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY. 



traced by its effects. But whether known or 
not, whether great or little, it is a very grave 
and serious consideration, that we are individ- 
ually responsible, religiously responsible, for the 
nature, and, as far as we can control them, for the 
effects, of the influence we thus exert upon our 
fellow-men. 

Again, we are responsible for the use or abuse 
of our opportunities of religious improvement. 
These are numerous, far beyond the common 
estimate of them. They are not, as is some- 
times supposed, confined to seasons of direct re- 
ligious instruction, or to the hours of prayer and 
serious self-communion ; but extend over and 
through every part of our conscious being, at 
all times, and in all places. All that we think 
and feel, all that we are, all the events of life, 
prosperous or adverse, — all, all are fraught with 
a diviner meaning than their obvious import. 
While they serve to engage and occupy the 
mind, they are also intended to improve, sanc- 
tify, and hallow it. While they serve to fill 
up the daily and hourly routine of the present 
life, they are also intended to fit us for the high- 
er engagements and holier services of another. 
Until this is thus felt and realized, the very 
germ of spiritual life lies dormant and dead in 
our bosoms. Heaven and earth in all their 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY. 



9 



changes, lay us under a religious responsibility, 
for they are symbols of divine power and love, 
which human minds and hearts may if they will 
affectingiy interpret. All the kind arrangements 
for our well-being and our happiness lay us un- 
der a religious responsibility, for they are only 
to be referred to a Heavenly Father's love. Ev- 
ery step we take in safety lays us under a relig- 
ious responsibility, since it can only be secured 
to us by the guidance and help of that unseen 
hand which keeps "our feet from falling and 
our souls from death." Every breath we draw 
in health and peace lays us under a religious re- 
sponsibility, since the breath of life at every in- 
stant can be nothing less than a trust from Om- 
nipotence. And when to these occasions and 
means of religious thankfulness and improvement 
we add the more obvious and more frequently ac- 
knowledged instructions and warnings from on 
high, we shall find the debt of religious respon- 
sibility immeasurably increased. There is the 
solemn and affecting language of events which 
come fraught with unearthly messages from 
God ; there are the direct instructions, ordinan- 
ces, exhortations, and warnings of the glorious 
Gospel of the blessed God ; there is the example 
of Jesus Christ ; there is the promise of answer 
to our prayers, and of grace to help in every 



10 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY. 



time of need ; there are salutary hopes and salu- 
tary fears : there are struggles and aspirations of 
our spirits ; there are misgivings and desponden- 
cies known only to our own souls, and there 
are secret seasons of refreshing from the pres- 
ence of the Lord. These, and countless other 
means and motives of religious improvement, are 
universally enjoyed, and every individual is re- 
sponsible for his use and abuse of them to his 
constant Witness and final Judge. 

And, once more, every man is responsible to 
his God for the improvement and the waste of 
every instant of time. This, indeed, has been 
involved in all that has been said, but is, never- 
theless, too important to be passed by without 
distinct remark. In nothing is the inconsistency 
of men more apparent, than in their theory and 
practice in respect to the value of time. Noth- 
ing is more prized in the abstract estimate, and 
nothing is so recklessly lavished in the absolute 
use. They profess, and even soberly believe, 
that the moments of time are unspeakably pre- 
cious ; — precious in reference to the engagements 
of the current day, precious in reference to that 
frightful waste of them in times past, which is 
at every present instant to be redeemed ; precious 
in reference to their brief duration and rapid 
flight ; precious, inconceivably precious, in refer- 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY. 



11 



ence to an eternal world ; — and yet what is often 
their practical recognition of these truths ? Is 
there not a deplorable forgetfulness of them ? 
Still it is true, that every moment of time brings 
with it to every person, whatever be his con- 
dition in life, an opportunity, which, whether 
viewed in reference to this world or the world 
to come, is of priceless value ; and which, there- 
fore, lays us under a strong and an imperative 
religious responsibility. Uncompromising as the 
assertion may appear, strange as it may sound 
to the dull, cold ear of indifference, yet is it not 
true, that the man or woman of any age or any 
condition in society lives not beneath the sun, 
who, unless sick, or weary, or otherwise ren- 
dered incapable of effort, is authorized to pass 
an aimless or vacant hour ? 

Such are some illustrations of the doctrine of 
human responsibility, which are intended princi- 
pally to impress our minds with a realizing sense 
of its reality and extent. This, as I have said, 
is what is mainly needed. It is a doctrine 
which, like many others, we readily admit as 
true, as founded in the very nature and condi- 
tion of things here below, and as taught in the 
Gospel we profess. But is it understood in ref- 
erence to our particular condition as individuals ? 
Is it felt, realized, acted upon by all, in the de- 



12 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY. 



tails of life, in the passing hour, in our partic- 
ular engagements and peculiar circumstances, as 
we in our serious and thoughtful moments de- 
sire, — as we shall wish it had been felt, and 
realized, and acted upon, when the hours of trial 
shall have been passed, and the hour of retribu- 
tion shall have arrived ? 

I have deemed this, brethren and friends, as I 
have said, a fitting subject with which to com- 
mence the religious instructions of the year. 
The earth has just finished another of her an- 
nual rounds. We have enjoyed during this pe- 
riod, and at every conscious moment of this 
period, an opportunity of improving our minds, 
of improving our hearts, of improving our social 
natures, of extending a wholesome influence 
around us, of improving our religious state, by 
using well the priceless treasure of time. Have 
we used these opportunities ? Have we made 
the best use of them ? Let each answer the 
question for himself, and try to answer it now 
as he must answer it hereafter. But whatever 
be our replies, or whether we make none, the 
true answer is known to God. Another year 
has fulfilled the mission of its destiny, the bal- 
ance of its good or evil, In respect to all of us, 
has just been struck, and has been recorded in 
the book of God's remembrance. Do any think 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY. 



13 



this subject has been now overstated or urged 
too far ? Let them not satisfy themselves with 
vague thought or vague talk upon the subject, 
but look at it just as it is, just as it has been 
written upon human bosoms by the hand of 
God, just as it has been taught by his Son, just 
as it is continually authenticated in the history 
of human life. They will then find that it 
stands high above this feeble attempt to reach 
it, that it spreads out far beyond this humble 
effort to grasp it. And if in connection with it 
they will seriously think of life, of its brevity, of 
its uncertainty, — especially think of its religious 
opportunities, of the capacity of men to rise into 
a likeness with God himself, and to be happy 
with Him for ever, — and, on the other hand, of 
their liability to fail in all this, and to turn all 
these means of improvement into instruments of 
their own condemnation, it will appear to them, 
as it really is, a very solemn thing to live, simply 
to exist, in a world like this. 

I have spoken as I might of the basis and 
extent of miman responsibility. I had hoped to 
have reserved a space, before tiring out your pa- 
tience, to speak of its result. But I have only 
time now for a single remark. This is, that the 
common views of a future retribution are very 
gross and low, — terrific, indeed, enough, but 



14 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY. 



vague and unimpressive. It is common, in speak- 
ing of the retribution of sin in a future world, 
to refer to penal flames, the undying worm, 
an infinite torment, and an eternal hell. These 
are awful images, indeed, and carry with them 
an awful meaning ; but nevertheless fail to affect 
the mind, partly in consequence of their want 
of definiteness, partly by reason of the distance 
to which they are removed, partly by a lurking 
skepticism, and partly by a hope of availing our- 
selves of some evasions of the threatenings, as 
they apply to our own particular case. But the 
text on which these remarks are founded allows 
no escape, no excuse, no palliation from the le- 
gitimate effects of our own conduct. What is 
its language ? " Be not deceived ; God is not 
mocked : whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he 
also reap." " Whatsoever," — this is the term : 
the very thing, that precise act, thought, feeling, 
which is in your mind at this moment, — this, 
this is the seed whose fruit you must reap ; and 
it is a fruit that will answer precisely to the 
seed you sow, and the harvest, therefore, will 
be one of weal or woe, as every conscious mo- 
ment is well or ill employed. This is a solemn 
retribution indeed, and one before which the 
common ideas on this subject, horrible as they 
are, fade into insignificance. 



HUMAN RESPONSIBILITY. 



15 



With the affectionate salutations, then, of the 
new year, my friends, let me remind you of its 
solemn, its fearful responsibilities. " Be not 
deceived ; God is not mocked " : whatsoever you 
sow, that, — that very thing, — that and only 
that, — be it good, or be it bad, — ay, even the 
minutest thought and feeling, and still more the 
general habits of your hearts and lives, — that 
you must sooner or later reap. The future must 
inevitably answer to the present, be this pres- 
ent what it may. 

January 4th, 1846. 



SERMON II. 

• t 



ANNIVERSARY SERMON. 

Twenty-fourth Year* 

HAVING, THEREFORE, OBTAINED HELP OF GOD, I CONTINUE 
UNTO THIS DAY. Acts XXvi. 22. 

On Thursday last occurred the twenty-fourth 
anniversary of my ordination here as your min- 
ister in the Gospel of Reconciliation. Meekly 
adopting the language of holy Paul, I, too, can 
say, " Having obtained help of God, I continue 
unto this day." The occasion brought with it 
many serious and fruitful reflections ; and it 
seemed to me that I could not better employ 
the first opportunity which occurs of meeting 
you here again, than in presenting some of these 
reflections to your minds. The remarks which 
I shall offer will be miscellaneous in their char- 
acter, and have little connection with each other, 
except that which they may derive from the 
common occasion by which they were called 
forth. 



ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 17 

The first thought suggested by the occurrence 
of this anniversary is the length of our pastoral 
union. Twenty-four years is a long period, in 
such a world as this, for the duration of any hu- 
man connection. It is especially a long period 
for the duration of the pastoral tie. The whole 
habits of the country in regard to this are greatly 
changed ; and, as I think, for the worse. Fifty, 
or even thirty years ago, all the inhabitants in 
most of our smaller towns were included in one 
parish, and one minister was the common pastor 
of them all. An ordination was then regarded 
as a very grave event. It became an era in the 
annals of the town, was attended with much 
sympathy by persons from all the neighbouring 
villages, and was considered as the consumma- 
tion of a tie scarcely less sacred than that of the 
marriage bond. The new pastor, by the very 
virtue of his office, became, at once, the object 
of respect, confidence, and reverential love. The 
young regarded him as a guide and an exemplar ; 
he was the confidential friend of most in active 
life : he was the helper and supporter of the aged. 
He was the common arbiter in petty differences, 
the common peacemaker in small broils, the 
common centre of interest to all. Thus he grew 
old with his people, always among them and al- 
ways of them ; sympathizing in their sorrows, 
2 



18 



ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 



sharing their joys, partaking of their trials ; labor- 
ing much abroad, rather a stranger to his study, 
no great consumer of the midnight oil ; oftener 
wearied with the toil of the body than with the 
toil of the brain ; preparing his discourses with 
small effort, and delivering them with less. His 
life was one of quiet and unexciting routine. 
And thus 

" Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had changed or wished to change his place." 

But all this, I scarcely need say, is now wholly 
altered. If we go now to any one of these 
scenes of former pastoral peace, union, and sta- 
bility, instead of one large, united religious soci- 
ety, strong in numbers, strong in resources, and 
stronger still in mutual love and respect, we shall 
find a number, more or less, of smaller parishes, 
each composed of seceders from that which was 
once common to them all, collected in little 
churches, perched on the surrounding hill-tops, 
bristling, as it were, with religious animosity, 
each believing itself to be the sole depository of 
saving truth ; each dealing out its anathemas 
against all the rest, to the no small detriment of 
the dwellers between ; each striving to make 
proselytes ; each struggling, with almost despe- 
rate effort, poorly to sustain itself; all opposed in 



ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 



19 



a petty warfare of opinion, and all agreeing only 
in one point, that of a most unchristian senti- 
ment of animosity of each against all, and of all 
against each. Under such disheartening circum- 
stances, the incumbents of these little parishes 
for the time being soon become dissatisfied. 
And well they may be. They are scarcely, in 
any case, adequately supported ; they find them- 
selves, without any agency of their own, sub- 
jected to a competition that is irrespective of real 
claims and of the sacred right of character ; and 
they are immersed, without any provocation on 
their part, in an atmosphere of religious strifes, 
alienations, and ill-will. It is not strange that, 
under such infelicitous circumstances, they should 
be willing to dissolve the unwelcome tie, and 
seek elsewhere more favoring auspices. But 
where shall they go ? With the exception of a 
few parishes in our cities and larger towns, the 
sketch I have here given emblems forth the con- 
dition of all the rest. Hence it is that the pas- 
toral tie is so frail and so easily broken. 

I have made here a simple statement of facts, 
and they are such as lie open to every competent 
observer. It is, beside, my present purpose to 
advert to those causes which underlie these facts, 
and out of which they spring. They are easy 
enough to be found by those who wisely seek 



20 



ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 



them. But whatever these causes may be, the 
effects are greatly to be deplored. They give 
a controversial character to religious teaching. 
They embitter social intercourse. They give 
rise to much belittling remark and censoriousness 
upon that sacred thing, private character. They 
change the Gospel of Jesus, "which was intended 
to be the very head-spring of peace and love, in- 
to a fountain of ill-will and all uncharitableness. 
But what I deem to be one of the greatest evils 
of this frequent change, and consequent short- 
ness and precariousness of the pastoral relation, 
is, that they prevent that growth of mutual confi- 
dence between pastor and people, without which 
this relation fails of all its truest aims and best 
effects, and becomes, indeed, all but worthless. 
This confidence can only be properly based on 
mutual knowledge, mutual respect and regard. 
And this mutual knowledge, respect, and regard 
can only be the result of long acquaintance and 
intimate intercourse, amidst the various aspects 
of God's providence, both bright and dark, and 
in the competitions, trials, and temptations of life. 
This mutual confidence, therefore, is always a 
plant of slow growth ; for if, like the gourd of 
the prophet, "it spring up in a night," like that, 
too, it will be very likely to " perish in a night." 
The simple duration of the pastoral tie, therefore, 



ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 



21 



viewed only as a necessary element of a mutual 
confidence between pastor and people, is, in all 
ordinary cases, a subject of grateful recognition. 
I hope, nay, I know, it has not wholly failed 
in its beneficent effects in our particular case. I 
know not a few hearts here will respond to mine, 
in the recollection of hours passed in the sacred 
and confidential interchange of thought and feel- 
ing on the holiest themes ; of hours when, by a 
soul-felt communion, light has been thrown on 
the gloomy passages of life, and into the dark and 
sorrowing places of the heart : of hours when 
God's " selectest influence " seemed to be poured 
upon our outsearchings after his will and guid- 
ance ; of hours when those pure and pious affec- 
tions, which are to make a heaven for the soul 
hereafter, have reaped their first fruits here. May 
God grant that such hours may be multiplied and 
realized between us more and more, before that 
connection, which, at the longest, must now soon 
close in death, shall be ended ! May God grant 
that any seeming impediment, arising from any 
little infelicities of manner or circumstance on 
either side, may be done away, that our minds 
may find out, more and more, their mutual rela- 
tionship, our hearts be drawn more and more into 
a religious sympathy ! Yes, whatever else you 
may give or withhold, my friends, let me hope 



22 



ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 



you will not withhold that sacred confidence in 
sacred things, which can alone enable me to be, 
in any important measure, useful to you now, 
and prepare us both for a purer, higher, and 
unending communion in the world to come. 
God, our Father in Heaven, knows, my friends 
and people, that I seek, in my inmost heart, not 
yours, but you ; and when we shall both stand 
before the judgment-seat of Christ, may it be 
that we shall look back upon these opportunities 
of sacred confidence and communion which are 
passing now, as those which have been redeemed 
from an anxious and frivolous world, for the 
great purposes for which life was given. 

Another result of a long duration of the pas- 
toral tie is the peculiar and varied relations 
it creates between the pastor and his people. 
When, twenty-four years since, I took upon 
myself the solemn vows of ordination here, nu- 
merous friends, then in advanced life, united in 
the service, and received me at once, as a sort 
of elder son, into their confidence and intimacy. 
It was, I well remember, with a feeling of self- 
distrust and deep humility that I addressed 
myself to the duty of offering counsels of holy 
living to those who were wise and good long 
before I was born. Many of you will recollect 
these patriarchs of our parish, and also call to 



ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 



23 



mind the dignity and weight of influence which 
their very presence lent to our public religious 
services. Many of you will remember especially 
the gracious presence of a good and wise old 
man, then verging on to the completion of a 
century of years, who never sought and rarely 
found, even at that protracted age, an apology 
for absence from his place at church, in the in- 
clemency of the weather, or in other common 
and. frivolous excuses, and who, during the 
whole service, remained standing at my side, 
thus showing his respect and regard for the ser- 
vices of public worship : and by his reverend 
grace and " pleasing sanctity " gave effect to 
the vastly less moving power of any words of 
mine. But he, and others like him, excellent 
and venerable men, true lovers and appreciators 
of worthy effort, have gone from our circle, one 
after another, to enter on that next stage in an 
eternal career for which each had prepared him- 
self in his probation here on earth. 

Again, there were those then in the midst of 
life, and these just then entering on its active 
duties, with whom I commenced this journey, 
now nearly a quarter of a century long. Some 
greatly loved and respected fell early by the way. 
Others in sad succession followed. Many yet 
survive. Would that I could know that this 



24 



ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 



long intercourse had been as richly fraught with 
holy uses, as it has been uniformly friendly and 
courteous ! 

Again, there are those whose hands, pledging 
preengaged hearts, many years ago, I have joined 
in holiest ties, whom I have seen rising into the 
dignity and responsible duties of heads of fam- 
ilies, in whose familiar joys and sorrows, hopes 
and anxieties, I have been made a partaker, whose 
children I have watched in their onward path 
as an interested friend, and with whom, there- 
fore, I have been associated in various ways, 
which can only belong to a protracted pastoral 
office. May God's blessing rest on all these in- 
teresting relations, and render them more and 
more productive of mutual regard and mutual 
improvement ! And then, again, there are many 
who from time to time have openly pledged 
themselves here as the devoted followers of 
Christ, by that solemn commemoration of his 
death which he himself enjoined. If I have 
had, in the lapse of many years, any, even the 
smallest, agency in leading them to this good 
result, may God be praised ! I prize it above all 
things else they give or have to give. Yes, if, 
through the grace of God and the love of his 
Christ, I should not fail of final pardon and ac- 
ceptance, the thought, that any persons, through 



ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 



25 



any sincere, however poor, agency of mine, had 
been led in faith, penitence, and love to the 
foot of the cross, it will add a lustre to the 
" crown of my rejoicing " richer and brighter 
than this and all material worlds have to give. 

Alas ! — for the suggestion will urge itself, — 
alas ! how often have I endeavoured to present 
this duty to ears that will not hear, to hearts that 
will not respond ! God forgive me if I have not 
been true and faithful to my duty in this re- 
spect. May God forgive you if you have been 
faithless to yours, and soon pierce the sealed ears 
with the Gospel call, and open the closed heart 
to its tender and solemn import. 

Again, there are many belonging to this re- 
ligious circle, on whose foreheads, in their un- 
conscious infancy, I placed the seal of baptism. 
These are now passing through the various 
stages of life, from youth to ripened man and 
womanhood. Some are in the process of pre- 
paring for the serious duties of future years. 
Some have passed through this preparatory stage, 
in active or in studious pursuits, and have en- 
tered, or are now entering, at home and abroad, 
on the responsible duties of life. In more than 
one instance I have performed this rite for 
the offspring of those parents who themselves, 
in infancy, also received it at my hands. This 



26 



ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 



is one of those facts which can only occur in a 
protracted ministry, and gives rise to feelings in 
both parties peculiar and interesting. 

And this leads to the remark, that the pastoral 
relation is fraught with singular interest, in re- 
gard to all the youthful and the young. After 
the ties of family and home, the pastor of our 
early years, if I may judge from my own well- 
remembered feelings towards my own, stands 
next in interest as the common friend of all. 
May this relation be held sacred by us, my young 
friends. May it be so blessed of God as to be 
one of the means of leading you to that most 
touching and beautiful of all offerings here be- 
low, — the offering of youthful hearts on the 
altar of their God. 

Such are some of the relations which grow 
out of a protracted ministry. Loosely as these 
relations are often borne, and little as they are 
frequently prized, they are all, in the estimate 
of every serious and thoughtful spirit, peculiar, 
tender, precious, and solemn. They belong to 
no other condition, to no other environment of 
circumstances in life. They are concerned, as 
none others are, with the most enduring senti- 
ments of the soul. They are invaluable as per- 
taining to our highest welfare for the longest 
time. They are of the gravest import, since 



ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 



27 



they are intimately connected with that future 
state, to which we are all rapidly tending. 

These protracted pastoral relations have been 
vouchsafed to this religious society in a very 
remarkable degree. Of the nearly seventy-one 
years of its duration, the pastoral office has been 
vacant only seventeen months, and has been 
filled by only three incumbents. The ministry 
of the first, the venerable Barnard, lasted nearly 
forty-two years ; that of his successor, the saintly 
Abbot, nearly five ; and the twenty-fourth anni- 
versary of mine has just passed. The peculiar 
advantages arising from a protracted ministry, 
at least, have been here specially granted. The 
question, then, should arise in all our minds, — 
and it is one of deep and concerning import, — 
How have these peculiar privileges been valued 
and improved by us ? Have we mutually reaped 
from them all their precious uses ? Would that 
these inquiries, when carried into their minute 
details, might be answered with approving con- 
sciences ! But if, as is probably the fact with 
both and all of us, they cannot thus be an- 
swered, then let us, both and all, take counsel 
from our failures, and enter upon such as may 
remain with increased earnestness, and with new 
purposes of duty and improvement. 

I have now but one suggestion more to offer 



28 



ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 



in the conclusion of these remarks ; and it is the 
obvious but deeply solemn one, that the very 
length of the continuance of our pastoral rela- 
tion involves the further fact, that, according to 
the usual course of things, it must be fast draw- 
ing to a close. This is continually verified in 
regard to individuals of this congregation. Sun- 
day after Sunday, year after year, those are 
present here, who join in our services, and listen 
to our sweet and solemn strains of devotional 
music, and lift their hearts in prayer, and re- 
spond, it may be, with assenting minds to the 
voice of the pulpit, and all this for the last time 
on earth. Such, it may be, are here to-day. 
This thought often occurs to me with unutter- 
able solemnity, and brings with it a sense of re- 
sponsibleness that lies like a mountain's weight 
upon my heart. Certain it is that those are 
here to-day who will never again unite in an 
anniversary service like this. Who they are 
God alone knows, and let each and all, there- 
fore, engage in and employ this, and every pub- 
lic religious service, as if it were the last. 

But this pastoral connection may be brought 
to a close, not only with regard to individuals, 
but also in regard to all. It is quite as liable to 
cease, — it may at any time cease, — it must ere 
long cease, by a failure of health, strength, and 



ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 



29 



life on the part of him who bears the pastoral 
office. The very fact, that it has lasted long, 
is of itself an admonition that its future dura- 
tion must, by the necessity of the case, be com- 
paratively short. Then he on whom this sol- 
emn duty has devolved for many years will 
be called to follow those numerous friends who 
have gone before, and meet, with them, in God's 
own time, those who shall survive. And where ? 
Where ? At the judgment-seat of Christ ! O 
God, what a thought ! O God, grant that, by a 
mutual fidelity in this most solemn connection, 
this meeting shall be one to all of us of ineffable 
joy, and not of agonizing and remediless re- 
morse for unfaithfulness in our mutual duties, 
for opportunities of improvement unprized, neg- 
lected, lost ! 



SERMON III. 



♦ — - 

SINS OF OMISSION. 

BREAK UP YOUR FALLOW GROUND. — Hosea X. 12. 

To leave undone what it is our known duty 
to do is as obviously a sin as the doing of what 
we are forbidden to do. The injunctions of our 
religion are not restricted to negative duties 
merely, that is, to the abstaining from things 
prohibited ; but they are laid upon positive du- 
ties, that is, upon the doing of things command- 
ed. It will be a vain plea for us to say, that we 
have done no actual evil, that we have kept 
.ourselves from outright offences, that we have 
thus " washed our hands in innocency, and 
kept our garments lily-white, if we have not, 
according to our ability, done good, and made, 
as we have had opportunity, positive acquisitions 
m Christian worthiness. We should aim not on- 
ly to be pure, but holy ; we should not " only 
wait for," but u seek the Lord," " Break up," 



SIXS OF OMISSION. 



31 



says the Prophet, "the fallow ground." It will 
be of little avail that we root out the noxious 
weeds from the soil, if we suffer it to be sterile. 
It were better, perhaps, that some tares should 
mingle in with the wheat, than that at the time 
of harvest there should be no grain. Be it re- 
membered, therefore, to do no good is in itself a 
great evil, and simple unprofitableness is a de- 
cided sin. The Gospel speaks everywhere of ef- 
fort, toil, and struggle. There is a spirit-stir- 
ring tone in all its precepts, which, while it calls 
to generous rivalry every true follower of the 
cross, should ring in the ears of the halting, 
slothful, not-doing man, like " a voice of doom.*' 
The stream of life is not one whose onward 
flow alone will bear us to our destined haven 
without our care : but it is one that is dis- 
turbed by many cross eddies, lurking quick- 
sands, and dangerous reefs, and it is one, 
therefore, which requires us to study carefully 
the chart of duty, to labor earnestly at the 
helm and oar, to keep our eye fixed on the 
sure lights of the firmament, and to take ad- 
vantage of every teasing wave, fickle wind, 
and devious current. The Gospel emblems are 
all quickening ones. It likens duty to a war- 
fare : to a race ; to a striving for entrance at a 
narrow gate ; to a labor in a vineyard, where, at 



32 



SINS OF OMISSION. 



the third, and the sixth, and the eleventh hour, 
the Lord is calling on the loiterers, " Why stand 
ye here all the day idle ? " The way of duty 
which the Gospel points is an ever-onward, ever- 
upward way. It scales acclivities, it plunges 
into caverns, and has not, from the cradle to the 
grave's brink, a single resting-place for the foot 
of the idler. It is one, moreover, on which no 
one can be carried by another, but it is one on 
which we all by a self-effort go. " In this the- 
atre of man's life," says one of the wisest of the 
sons of men, u in this theatre of man's life God 
and angels only should be lookers-on." But it 
seems to me that God is much more than a 
" looker-on" in this world of His, and it is very 
plain that angels might be better employed. Our 
Lord teaches us that every one has his appointed 
mission. Every body beneath the sun is bound to 
do something. The accidental circumstances of 
wealth, rank, and leisure, so far from conferring 
any exemption from this rule, as is often thought, 
only serve, in the Christian's estimate, to enlarge 
the field of duty. " Existence," mere living in 
such a world as this, is a solemn trust, every hour 
has its appropriate duty, and no part of the field 
of human life is intended to lie fallow. It is one 
of the leading marks by which man is distinguish- 
ed from the lower animals, that his faculties are all 



SINS OF OMISSION. 33 

improvable, and improvable to an indefinite de- 
gree ; and shall he presume, by pausing anyhow 
or anywhere in a limitless career, to falsify this 
aim of his being ? Our Saviour, beyond all teach- 
ers who have ever lived, is especially careful to 
guard us against that easy infirmity of our na- 
tures, which leads us to rest satisfied with a mere- 
ly negative virtue, — with innocency, as we are 
willing to call it. Why was the fig-tree cursed by 
our Lord? Because it produced bad fruit ? No. 
But because it produced no fruit. The door 
was shut against the foolish virgins, not because 
they were positively wicked, but because they 
were thoughtless, thriftless, and improvident ; 
not because they refused to go and meet the 
bridegroom, but because they went unprepared 
to meet him ; not because they took bad oil in 
their lamps, but because they took no oil. The 
servants, too, who improved the talents commit- 
ted to them, received the gracious approval of 
their Lord ; while he who only restored that 
which was given was sent into outer darkness. 
He was condemned, not for losing his talent, but 
for hiding it in the earth ; not for wasting it, but 
for not using it ; not for having neglected to keep 
it safely, — for this he did, — but for not having 
made the most of it ; not, in a word, for having 
been a profligate, but an unprofitable servant. 
^3 



34 



-SINS OF OMISSION. 



And in that account of the final judgment, which, 
with such solemn imagery, our Saviour himself 
has given us, his future acceptance and rewards 
are promised to positive virtues, to deeds of ac- 
tive beneficence. " Come," saith he, u ye bless- 
ed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared 
for you.'' And why? Not because they did 
not injure their fellow-men, but because they 
exerted themselves to do them good. And, on 
the other hand, we find that opportunities un- 
used, duties unfulfilled, claims disregarded, will 
expose us to his condemnation. u Depart, ye 
cursed." And wherefore ? Not, it is quite re- 
markable, for having been guilty of any out- 
right acts of wickedness towards their fellow- 
men, but of having left undone acts of kind- 
ness towards them. What is his language ? " Ye 
gave me no meat, ye gave me no drink ; being 
a stranger, ye took me not in ; being naked, ye 
clothed me not ; being sick and in prison, ye 
visited me not." Their guilt consisted in not 
doing, in carelessness, in indifference, in slothful- 
ness ; in one word, in the sins of omission. In- 
deed, and the thought is one of startling signifi- 
cance, it may be often as truly as it has been 
sternly and strongly said : — 

" So our not doing is set down 
Among our darkest deeds." 



SINS OF OMISSION. 



35 



Such is a general description of this class of 
offences. If, in the next place, we advert to 
their number and variety, we shall find that the 
great importance assigned to them in the Gos- 
pel is fully authorized. The number is truly 
countless. It is obvious that we may be guilty 
of the sins of omission with respect to all the 
positive duties which are prescribed to us. That 
we are, in point of fact, extremely liable to this 
class of offences, it needs no very searching self- 
examination to discover. Let our situation in 
life be what it may, we shall find that much is 
left undone that ought to be done. There is, 
for instance, all our shrinking from incumbent 
duty, in the wide sense of that solemn word. 
There are all our neglects of the trusts commit- 
ted to our keeping. And what in this life is not 
a trust ? Nothing, nothing. In the Christian's 
estimation every thing is a trust. Time, for ex- 
ample, is a trust. But time is often consumed 
in sloth, or, what is scarcely better, in those 
time-wasters in which aimless and frivolous lives 
are worn away. Wealth is a trust. It is lent to 
us ; it is not ours ; it is lent upon the unavoida- 
ble condition of being used for others, as well as 
for ourselves. But how often is it confined to 
merely selfish ends ! Our mental powers, our 
moral faculties, and all our means of spiritual 



36 



SINS OF OMISSION. 



culture, are a trust. How often do they He un- 
employed and disregarded ! All the means of 
active beneficence, good deeds, and kind words, 
are a trust. Do none of them remain unused ? 
Above all, the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and all its « 
opportunities and privileges of spiritual improve- 
ment, are a most solemn trust. But, alas ! how 
often are they lost upon us ! Now all these neg- 
lects of the trust committed to our keeping are 
examples of the sins of omission, and even this 
rapid and imperfect allusion to them may show 
how numerous and varied they are. 

But if we would be fully convinced of the truth, 
let each of us look back, with a strict fidelity, on 
the history of our past lives. Is it filled up with 
the record of good designed and done, — a record 
of the achievements of a strenuous industry, of 
earnest strugglings after personal improvement, 
of acts of Christian charity towards others, and 
of piety towards God ? Or do we find blanks, 
and blots, and chasms there, which declare how 
great and numberless have been our sins of omis- 
sion ? Nay, it is possible that we need not take 
so wide a range as this. What is the record of 
any shorter period ? Let it be of yesterday, or 
any past day, and let the best of us take the best. 
Is there no sin of omission written there ? Was 
nothing left undone which we could have done 



SINS OF OMISSION. 



37 



and ought to have done ? Was there no hour 
unprofitably passed ? Was there no special oc- 
casion of usefulness left unimproved to the ut- 
most, and to the best purposes ? Did we oblige 
and benefit that individual with whom we came 
into contact to the extent of our power ? Was 
that relative duty of justice or charity well ful- 
filled ? Did not a censorious word fall into an 
open and willing ear, and thus make us accesso- 
ries to the sinful thing ? Did not that harsh or 
uncalled-for judgment of a neighbour find an un- 
christian response in our own bosoms, and thus 
expose us to judgment ? Were we not tempted, 
in the details of family and home, to any im- 
patience or irritability of word, look, or tone ? 
Did we maintain a strict self-control, when a 
certain lying temptation presented itself ? Was 
that personal virtue then peculiarly incumbent 
duly observed ? Was the besetting infirmity 
which has haunted us like a demon all our lives 
long successfully resisted, when that smiling 
but treacherous opportunity for its indulgence 
presented itself? These questions might be al- 
most infinitely multiplied. If we pursue this 
inquiry faithfully into the minute transactions of 
almost any passing day, we shall be prepared to 
understand what the Saviour meant when he 
said, — " Why call ye me Lord, Lord, and do 



38 



SINS OF OMISSION. 



not the things which I say ? " And we may 
then learn how much " fallow ground," in our 
own particular sphere of duty, there yet remains 
to be broken up. 

I observe, in the third place, that there are 
peculiar dangers attending the class of offences 
under consideration. And they are peculiarly 
perilous, first, on account of their very nature : 
namely, because they are omissions and not posi- 
tive overt acts, and hence are to be ranked 
among that large class of sins which David calls 
"secret," that is, those which are concealed 
from ourselves. The commission of any palpa- 
ble, outright, sinful act necessarily supposes a 
strong inducement, — the question of motives, 
the decision of the will, attending circumstances, 
some real or fancied gratification at the time in 
which it was done, and the painful commentary 
of conscience afterwards. It has, as it were, a 
visible, tangible shape, and an act of conscious- 
ness, to say the least, accompanies every act 
of outright sin. But this is not the case with 
offences of omission. These are negatives, or 
nothings, if I may say so, implying only the 
absence of something else. They are ordinarily 
attended with no immediate inconvenience either 
to ourselves or others. They escape, therefore, 
our notice, and we may go on and multiply 



SINS OF OMISSION. 



39 



them, day after day, unconsciously. Our prog- 
ress from sin to sin, in this way, like a passage 
by night, may be entirely imperceptible, and we 
may be cast on shoals, and make shipwreck of 
our virtue, before aware of our moral peril. 
There is another danger, too, resulting from the 
same cause, with which this class of offences is 
attended. As they excite little or no attention 
at the time they are indulged in, so they leave 
no traces on the memory. The commission of 
actual, positive evil leaves, in minds not yet 
hardened, a painful remembrance. It is asso- 
ciated with strong emotions, with persons, places, 
times ; it leaves a vivid image in the mind, it is 
accompanied by a sense of humiliation, it dis- 
tresses us in the retrospect of our lives, it calls 
forth the kind, though awakening, admonitions 
of conscience ; it follows us unasked into our 
retirements, lies down with us unasked upon 
our beds, and murders sleep. But none of these 
circumstances, for the reason just assigned, at- 
tend the ordinary omissions of our duty. They 
are followed by none of these salutary warn- 
ings. They are repeated, therefore, with little 
consciousness that we are incurring guilt, often 
with little compunction, and become numerous 
and aggravated, without any suspicion on our 
part that they exist at all. Hence it is, that 



40 



SINS OF OMISSION. 



we may see persons. — nothing, indeed, is more 
common than to see persons living continually 
beneath, far beneath, the requisitions of the Gos- 
pel, and yet living on, careless, and not dissat- 
isfied with themselves, on the ground that they 
do not live against, or in opposition to, these 
requisitions. And this they call their inno- 
cency. God have mercy upon us, if such be 
our innocency ! And may He teach us to feel, 
and to feel betimes, that we may fail as well as 
offend in the service of our Master, and that 
failing is offending. 

There is a further danger attending the class 
of failures under consideration, which is common 
to all offences. I refer to that which results from 
the close connection which ever subsists among 
all the vices. They interweave themselves, one 
with another, in closest union. To come into 
contact with any one, then, is to hazard injury 
from the whole. The vices, whether of omis- 
sion or of commission, are always close con- 
federates, and if we suffer ourselves to become 
intimate with one. it will be sure to introduce 
us to the rest of the perilous brotherhood. The 
smallest and most insignificant has yet influence 
enough to make us acquainted with the more 
distinguished members of the alliance. A man, 
who has so far let go his hold upon moral and 



SINS OF OMISSION. 



41 



religious principle as to leave undone habitually 
what he knows he ought to do, is in a fair way 
of doing outright what he ought not to do. 
Are we yet to learn that a neglect of any posi- 
tive duty leads on to the actual commission of 
positive sins ? A thousand illustrations of this 
truth will present themselves to the accurate 
observer of human nature. Disregard of self- 
government, or of any of those restrictive virtues 
by which this is established and maintained, ex- 
poses us to the successful solicitations of the 
passions ; omitting offices of courtesy and good- 
will towards those around us leads to the neg- 
lect of their higher relative claims ; disregard- 
ing the means of religious improvement, such as 
meditation, prayer, and public worship, or the 
attending to them merely as means of a mere 
earthly excitement, checks the growth of piety 
in our bosoms, and tends to reconcile us to more 
obvious acts of unthankfulness towards God. 
In fine, for we need not multiply illustrations of 
a fact so palpable, if we trace back the progress 
of any bad propensity or habit to its origin, we 
shall almost always find that it had its source in 
some one of these sins of omission. 

To these remarks on the nature, number, and 
danger of sins of omission and unprofitableness, 
I only add; that they especially deserve our se- 



42 



SINS OF OMISSION. 



rious consideration, since they are precisely those 
to which the great body of the community, in a 
state of society like ours, are most liable. The 
unwritten law of public opinion and of public sen- 
timent, the moral and religious feelings and prin- 
ciples which generally prevail, withhold all but 
the abandoned and grossly vicious from the com- 
mission of outright offences against the laws of 
God and man. The great mass of men are to 
be considered, it is but simple justice to say, as 
friends of law, order, and religion, — they would 
recoil from the imputation of any gross vice, — 
they cheerfully lend their support to all good 
civil institutions, — they are not inattentive to 
many of the public and private means of Chris- 
tian improvement. But while all this is matter 
of pleasing recognition, and should be allowed 
its due weight, is it not also true that it may co- 
exist with a careless and yet secure indulgence 
in many and great sins of omission ? We all 
know that it does. But our religion, if it be 
any thing, is a practical concern, which is to be 
carried into palpable acts. Its place is in the 
heart, it is true, but it has outright claims upon 
the life, which can be satisfied with no series of 
negations, with no mere withholding ourselves 
from active, obvious sins. Though, like the 
mysterious principle of animal life, it is itself 



SINS OF OMISSION. 



43 



unseen, yet, like that, it must be brought into 
activity and vigor by care and effort. It re- 
quires that we do all that we may for our indi- 
vidual improvement, and all that we may for the 
best good of others, and will not hold us guilt- 
less if we rely on that attention to its requisitions 
which is little more than external, decent, and 
formal. Her language is, — "This ought ye to 
have done, and not have left the other undone." 

I have thus presented what I have hoped 
might be profitable to offer in regard to sins of 
negligence, not-doing, and omission. So far as 
they are just and timely, they should lead us to 
consider a part of conduct which is too often 
passed by without proper attention. Let us re- 
member that the Gospel requires of us a positive 
virtue ; that its claims are not to be satisfied 
by merely withholding ourselves from things 
forbidden, with no negations or ciphers in the 
aggregate of life, but by the energetic exercise 
of every Christian duty, by positive, substantive 
acts. Let us reflect on the number and variety 
of these ordinary failures of omission, and learn 
how fearful is their amount. Let us think of 
their peculiar deceitfulness, and learn their dan- 
ger. And let us dwell on these things betimes, 
while the day of our probation lasts ; and let 
this be enforced, too, by remembering that, if we 



44 



SINS OF OMISSION. 



believe our Master, we must each of us give an 
account of our stewardship in that peculiar prov- 
ince of duty which has been assigned to our 
care ; not for the preservation merely, but for 
the improvement of the talents, fewer or more, 
which have been confided to our keeping ; for 
our omission of duty, as well as for our outright 
offences ; for the talents we have buried, as well 
as for the talents we have misused. 



V 



SERMON IV. 



AUTUMN. 

THE HARVEST IS PAST, THE SUMMER IS ENDED, AND WE ARE 

not saved. — Jeremiah viii. 20. 

We make a sad mistake in religion, when we 
confine our inquiries into the character and will 
of God to his expressly revealed and written 
word. There is an earlier scripture which needs 
also to be read, — a scripture which unfolds to 
us a new page of instruction at every step we 
take, and in every moment of our conscious ex- 
istence, — a scripture whose instructions are ever 
varied, yet ever new, — a scripture which ad- 
dresses itself more vividly to the imagination, 
and more powerfully to the affections, than any 
literal letter of teaching, — a scripture which ev- 
er bears the unambiguous impress of the Divine 
hand, — a scripture which the rudest and most 
uninformed can read and interpret, — a scrip- 
ture which is rewritten for our instruction, with 



46 



AUTUMN. 



every opening day and deepening night ; — I 
mean the scripture, the glorious scripture, of 
God's works, — his grand and fair creation. 
This early scripture does not, I scarcely need 
say, supersede the written word ; on the con- 
trary, it comes in aid of it, throws its own di- 
vine light upon its holy page, and offers a con- 
tinual commentary on its obscure meanings. It 
may, perhaps, therefore be laid down as no un- 
worthy test of the religious attainments of a 
man, that God is habitually seen in all His works, 
that his perfections are recognized in every up- 
springing blade of grass, in every opening flow- 
er, in every passing cloud, in every beam of light. 

The same is true of that accompanying rev- 
elation that is made known in events. These, 
too, are instructions from on hish, and come 
fraught with a most solemn meaning to every 
considerate mind. Do you hear persons speak- 
ing of circumstances happening to fall out, of 
fortunate or unfortunate coincidences, of good 
and evil chances, or referring to what they are 
pleased to call the laws of nature. — as if laws 
were agents or any thing more than modes of 
operation, — you may be quite sure they talk 
ignorantly, or at least unwisely. — at any rate, 
heathenishly, — in this. 

And so, too, if you see persons walking over 



AUTUMN. 



47 



God's fair earth and beneath his glorious firma- 
ment, with their faces prone to the ground like 
the brutes, breathing God's air as if they were 
mere passive machines thus to be operated upon 
to be kept in action, and partaking his unbound- 
ed and countless sifts without the slightest rec- 
ognition of the hand that bestows them, it is 
certainly a fair conclusion, that religion is to 
them nothing better than a name, and that they 
are living as without God in the Avorld. Cer- 
tainly this blessed influence, to be and to do in 
men's hearts what it was intended to be and to 
do, must habitually and pervadingly be felt 
there, and all things and all events should be 
made to quicken, nourish, and sustain it. 

The revealed will of God, his later scripture, 
everywhere enforces this. It tells us, that 

" The heavens declare the glory of God, 
And the firmament showeth his handiwork. 
Day unto day uttereth speech, 
And night unto night showeth knowledge. 
There is no speech nor language 
Where their voice is not heard." 

And our Saviour, in like manner, sends us for 
instruction to the flowers of the field and to the 
birds of the air. 

Does it not become us, then, to turn aside oc- 
casionally, at least, from the engrossing engage- 
ments of life, and, under the guidance of revela- 



48 



AUTUMN. 



tion, to enter the great temple of nature, and thus 
bear our grateful offerings to Him who planned, 
created, upholds, and governs the whole ? 

Of those instructions which God is contin- 
ually giving to us, in the operations of his ma- 
terial universe, there are none more impressive, 
though commonly lost upon us by their famil- 
iarity, than those which are afforded by the 
progress of the seasons. 

" These, as they change, Almighty Father, these 
Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
Is full of Thee." 

It is wise, then, it is an incumbent duty, to 
learn the true import of these lessons which are 
given for our instruction in the peculiarities of 
those successive changes which fill up the year. 
Under these impressions, I have thought I could 
not better direct the public instructions of this, 
one of the lovely afternoons of autumn, than by 
suggesting some reflections on that season to 
which, in the good providence of God, we have 
now arrived. 

I am aware that it is sometimes objected 
to discourses of this kind, that they are too 
finely woven for common use ; that at best 
they can be appreciated only by a few, while 
they are lost upon the great mass of minds. I 
am persuaded, however, that these objections 



AUTUMN. 



49 



are not well founded ; I do not believe that the 
changes of the fair and grand world around us 
pass without affecting, in a greater or less de- 
gree, the minds of all who possess any religious 
sensibility. Nay, I have seen this openness to 
impression from the works of God, this pious 
recognition of the beauty and sublimity of this 
universe, in uninstructed minds, that may well 
put to shame and to school many of the so- 
called educated and refined. This may well be 
so. There are established trains of thought 
connected with these changes. It is no fancied 
association. It is one that belongs inherently to 
the human mind. If not, why is it that in all 
languages the different periods of the year are 
denoted by epithets which are derived from the 
feelings and sentiments of human bosoms ? 
Why do we speak of the hopeful spring, of the 
fervid summer, the sober autumn, and of the un- 
friendly winter ? The fact is obvious. This 
language of feeling and sentiment is universally 
applied to the external changes of the year. It 
is a language, further, which is universally un- 
derstood. So far from being confined to a few 
contemplative spirits, it is, in fact, the appropri- 
ated language of the many. And thousands, to 
whom God's written revelation in the Scriptures 
is as a sealed book, are yet vividly impressed 
4 



50 



AUTUMN. 



with the glorious, yet unwritten, revelation of his 
works. Words, indeed, may be wanting to em- 
body these impressions, but the impressions 
themselves are enstamped on the very heart ; 
and I cannot but think, therefore, that a simple 
and plain exposition of them will find an accord- 
ing response in many bosoms. 

And now to apply these general remarks : — 
If we will cast abroad our eyes on a day like 
this, we shall perceive that a striking change 
has recently taken place, and is now in progress, 
in all external nature. The sun, since he left 
the equal line, at the close of the last month, is 
sunk, and is daily narrowing his circle in our 
southern sky. His beams have lost nothing of 
their brightness, indeed, but they fall upon us 
with a more subdued and gentle influence. The 
o'erarching canopy of the sky seems to have 
gained a greater depth, and to be dyed with a 
deeper and serener blue. The morning and 
evening chills are gradually encroaching on the 
heat of noon. The cold moon, and constella- 
tions with broad disks but feeble light, struggle 
upward through the " doubling mists " and fogs 
that fill up the valleys, but shed, when they 
reach mid-heaven, a peculiar brightness. The 
flowers of the summer are faded or gone. The 
treasures of autumn are gathered, or are ripe for 



AUTUMN. 



51 



the garner. The dense green of the forests is 
changed into a thousand bright, yet chastened 
hues. This is especially true of our scenery 
here in New England. The great variety of 
our forest trees, and the gradual access of 
the frosts, that lead on by slow degrees the 
stern winter, (both of which are circumstances 
of grateful recognition,) render this autumnal 
change with us peculiarly gorgeous and sub- 
lime. Nor should these saddened, though rich, 
hues be considered, as I believe is commonly 
thought, the funereal dress of the forests, and 
as vestiges of decease and decay. On the con- 
trary, they indicate the completion of vegetable 
life, and are in truth a most beautiful illustra- 
tion of the methods which our Heavenly Fa- 
ther takes to variegate and beautify his lower 
world, and thus, as throughout his works, to add 
a superfluous beauty to use. As the season ad- 
vances, the leaves are seen one by one gently 
disengaging themselves from their parent branch- 
es, and falling, without a breath of air, and by 
the silent impulse of the rays of light alone, to 
the ground ; or they are thrown into wild ed- 
dies by the gusty wind. 

The beautiful birds, which, like summer 
friends, desert us in our altered condition, have 
long since finished their brief visit to us, have 



52 



AUTUMN. 



sought elsewhere a milder climate, and a kind- 
lier home. Those hardier animals that remain 
with us, to brave and to share the rigors of our 
northern winter, are seen to be busily engaged, 
with instinctive foresight and with quickened 
industry, in preparing for their long and dreary 
seclusion. A calm and Sabbath-like serenity 
and repose prevail around, or else give place 
to peculiarly lowering and gloomy clouds, or 
fitful showers, or dreary sounding winds, or 
sweeping storms. The night approaches, with 
stealthy, but sure steps, upon the day ; the hoar- 
frost spreads itself more and more over the land- 
scape, in the apparent work of decay, and thus 
the whole face of nature is saddened. But 
amidst these striking, and it may seem mourn- 
ful, changes, are interspersed those mild, serene, 
and yet glorious days, peculiar to the season, 
which seem to be " the very bridal of the earth 
and sky, :? when the whole atmosphere is filled 
with a golden light, which lends an unearthly 
radiance to the mellow tints of autumn, and 
when the sweet and balmy breezes from the 
southwest seem to realize the beautiful tradi- 
tion of the native sons of the forest, that they 
come from the spirit-land, where the departed 
have gone. These days, — call them not " the 
saddest of the year," call them not melancholy, 



AUTUMN. 



53 



— thoughtful and suggestive days, indeed, they 
are, but yet the serenest, the holiest, the divinest 
of the year. 

Such are some of the changes which are 
taking place in the works of God around us. 
What are those impressions and trains of thought 
which are naturally suggested by them ? What 
is taught us in the unearthly language they ut- 
ter ? What are those religious uses which should 
be made of them ? 

In the first place, the solemn serenity which 
now pervades the works of nature, united with 
those signs of apparent decay and dissolution 
which everywhere appear, naturally disposes the 
serious mind to serious reflection. The promise 
and beauty of spring have fled, — the glow and 
splendor of summer are gone, — seeming disso- 
lution is written on every thing around us ; — 
and can we stand amid these ruins of nature, in 
the evening twilight of the year, and not think 
of the transitoriness of human enjoyments and 
pursuits, of the shortening span of human life ? 
Do we not associate with these fading and tran- 
sient scenes the rapid vicissitudes we have been 
called to experience, — the decisive turns in our 
individual history ; the changes in the whole 
aspect of public affairs ; in almost every thing 
with which we have been conversant ; in our own 



54 



AUTUMN. 



persons, feelings, views, and prospects ? Do they 
not bring into vivid remembrance the departed, — 
the parents, associates, and friends of our early 
years, — whose strength God has withered by 
the way ? Do we not involuntarily recur to the 
afflictive discipline we have been summoned to 
endure, in the onward pilgrimage of life, and 
read, in the withering influences of the declining 
year, expressive emblems of our disappointed ex- 
pectations and of our blighted hopes ? 

Such are some of those impressions which the 
present season is fitted to make upon us. Let 
us now inquire into their religious uses. If 
they tended only to inspire us with a thoughtful 
or even a prophetic sadness, if they operated no 
further than this on the mind and heart, if they 
terminated in mere barren emotions, they would 
be of little worth. But they need not be, nor 
should they be, thus unproductive. They are 
fraught with salutary influences. Let us, then, 
consider some of the uses of these reflections. 

In the first place, the solemn closing of the 
year, with all those appearances of desolation 
which attend it, while it warns us of the fleet- 
ing nature of earthly things, should serve to cool 
the ardor of our passions, and qualify a too eager 
pursuit of present objects. When the voice of 
the dying year is singing, as it were, requiems 



AUTUMN. 



55 



in every wind, when the earth is strown with 
the faded beauties of the spring and summer, 
when the shortened day reminds us of that night 
of death which is impending over us, shall we 
still cling to the present life as to an enduring 
substance ? Shall our thoughts still be engrossed 
by mere earthly designs ? Shall not those pas- 
sions which have been excited by the inter- 
course of busy life lose something of their heat 
and force ? Shall not the apparent blight that 
reigns around, remind us of that blight of death 
which will soon settle upon all our earthly hopes 
and affections ? Shall we not hear in the sigh- 
ing breeze of autumn an unearthly voice, re- 
minding us of that common grave, where we, 
with all our loves and hatreds, our rivalries and 
strifes, must soon be buried ? 

If the reflections which the autumn of the 
year inspires extended no further than thus to 
solemnize the mind, and call it off from an over- 
engrossment in present objects, they would yet 
be valuable. But there are other sentiments 
suggested by this season which are still more 
important. It is the peculiar effect of all the 
works of God to lead the reflecting mind to God 
himself. This is the great end of all the mute 
eloquence of his creation. We look around us 
and see nothing but indications of decay. We 



56 



AUTUMN. 



feel that there is nothing on earth in which we 
can securely trust. " The harvest is past, the 
summer is ended.*' All the inanimate creation 
seems to be fading and perishing, as if stricken 
by a death-blight. Amid these mementos of 
dissolution our thoughts are irresistibly borne 
beyond the present world, where all is transitory, 
to that ineffable Being who sustains the whole. 
We instinctively turn from the changes by which 
we are surrounded to " Him who changeth not, 
neither is weary" ; we look for solace and sup- 
port to the " Lord God Almighty who was, and 
is, and is to be," who is "ever the same, and of 
whose years there is no end.'* We turn from 
the changes of this transitory state to Him with 
whom there is " no variableness or shadow of 
turning," and feel, that, though nature seems 
urging to dissolution, yet by His almighty power 
a new and fresher life will arise from apparent 
decay, — that a new spring will flourish over the 
ruins of autumn, — " that summer and winter, 
seed-time and harvest, shall not fail," until He 
who appointed their beautiful, glorious, and in- 
structive succession shall declare " that time 
shall be no longer.*' And do not thoughts like 
these lead us to anticipate with elevated joy and 
confidence that promised spring which shall dawn 
upon the winter of the grave, — from which 



AUTUMN. 



57 



there shall be no further changes but those from 
glory to glory ? 

Such are some of the reflections which are 
suggested to the serious mind by the autumnal 
season of the year, — such are the results to 
which they tend. They are solemn, indeed, but 
in their effects most salutary. They sadden our 
hearts but to make them better. They show us 
the transitoriness of this life, that they may lead 
us to aspire to a life everlasting. They begin in 
melancholy, but end in hope and trust. Let not. 
then, thoughts like these be considered visionary 
or useless by any. They are not so. They 
make, let me again repeat it, a part of the in- 
structions of God as much as his written word. 
They speak in a universal language. They are 
addressed to the human heart. They are ever 
understood by the devout and the contemplative ; 
and if they be not felt by all, it is because the 
comparatively vain, or low, or grovelling con- 
cerns of the world have rendered the mind dull 
and the heart cold. 

Let all, then, of every age, I say again, pause 
over the solemn scenery of autumn and be 
thoughtful. Let the young reflect that their 
spring of being cannot last for ever, and that the 
autumn of life, should they be spared to reach 
it, is near ; and let them use all diligence to ren- 



58 



AUTUMN. 



der it productive and serene. Let those in mid- 
dle life pause in their heated pursuit of mere 
temporal objects, and observe, in the desolation 
that has settled upon the summer which has just 
closed, a most emphatic emblem of the result of 
all their anxious, heated, and engrossing labors. 
And especially may those honored friends, who 
by the providence of God have reached the au- 
tumn of their lives, mark the instruction which 
He is giving them by the autumn of the year. 
Their spring is over, their summer is ended, 
their harvest is past, but there may yet be a 
season of stillness and serenity granted them, in 
which they may prepare for that winter which 
is fast approaching. 

And, in conclusion, let us all, in every stage of 
life, attend to the solemn thought which is sug- 
gested by the prophet, speaking of this season 
in the text, " The harvest," he says, u is past, 
the summer is ended ?? ; and then comes the 
startling admonition, — " we are not saved." 
This expression, indeed, as used here by him, 
had, probably, only a reference to temporary evils 
then felt or impending. But it suggests to us a 
weightier meaning. The harvest of life is past 
or passing, — the summer of our moral proba- 
tion is ended or ending ; but are we saved or 
safe in those interests which lay hold upon an 



AUTUMN. 



59 



eternal life of retribution ? Are we saved or 
safe from the infirmities and sins of thought, 
feeling, temper, will, heart, practice, and life ? 
Have we reaped the fruits of the great redemp- 
tion by Jesus Christ ? Have the spring, sum- 
mer, and autumn of this fleeting, earthly exist- 
ence been devoted to this great work ? Have 
the priceless opportunities of moral culture been 
suffered to lie fallow ? Has God been calling us 
to His service, by the works of his hand, by the 
events of his providence, and by the more ex- 
press messages of his grace, and do we still 
remain heedless and undevout ? Does the great 
labor of life, in this view of it, remain unfin- 
ished ? Is our harvest, in this sense, past, and 
our summer ended, and we not saved*? Then 
let us think, and think before it is too late, of 
that winter of death which is near, and of that 
night of the grave, in which no man can work. 



SERMON V. 



* 

INSINCERITY. 

BEWARE YE OF THE LEAVEN OF THE PHARISEES, "WHICH IS 

hypocrisy. — Luke xii. 1. 

It is difficult to say whether the folly or the 
sin of insincerity is the greater. Either is or 
ought to be sufficient, of itself, to withhold any 
passably ;good or tolerably sensible person from 
being guilty of it. And yet it prevails more or 
less throughout all the ranks and conditions of 
life. It is not unknown in a rude stage of so- 
ciety, and it becomes more and more prevalent, 
though more successfully disguised perhaps with 
the progress of what is called cultivation and 
refinement. 

Still it is a great folly, and it is a great sin. 
It is a great folly, because, if there be a just and 
holy God who rules in the affairs of men, he 
must frown upon and blast it ; and we find, in 
point of fact, he always does so ultimately. 



INSINCERITY. 



61 



Facts and truths are God ? s arguments, and ulti- 
mately always tell home upon the heart of man 
with resistless force. Nothing is sillier and poor- 
er in human conduct, therefore, than insincere 
dealing, in all its forms. 

And it is moreover a great sin. It is an em- 
bodied lie. It is a falsehood put into shape and 
act. It is a deception made vital, arrayed in a 
pleasing mask and winning dress, and then sent 
on its errands of mischief. 

Insincerity, then, both on account of its na- 
ture and prevalency, needs to be examined and 
exposed, to be traced into its elements, to be fol- 
lowed into its combinations, to be exhibited in 
its true character, and to be seen in its legiti- 
mate effects. It is to this duty I now address 
myself. 

I need not attempt to define strictly what is 
meant by the term insincerity. The thing it- 
self is no novelty in human affairs. It is well 
enough known to most persons by experience, 
either as agents in or sufferers by it. It may 
suffice to say, that it is that in character which 
is not what it purports or pretends to be. That 
in character, I say, for it is in this respect that 
insincerity differs from many things commonly 
confounded with it : such, for example, as dis- 
honesty, untruthfulness, want of candor, want 



62 



INSINCERITY. 



of openness, duplicity, guile, fraud, unworthy 
artifice, simulation, dissimulation, double-deal- 
ing, hypocritical bearing, and, in a word, from 
seeming and deceit, in all their changing phases 
and multifold forms. These are but the out- 
ward expressions of that insincerity which is as 
a head-spring out of which they all flow. This 
is an essential characteristic of the heart, of the 
mind, of the inner man. They are the varied 
manifestations in conduct of that insincerity 
which is a permanent condition of the charac- 
ter. They are the pestilent children, under 
various forms and names, of one sinful mother, 
— Insincerity. 

But the best idea of this, as of all moral qual- 
ities, is to be derived from the exhibition of it 
in real life. And in proceeding to lay before 
you some examples of that now under remark, 
I shall not refer with much particularity to those 
gross and palpable cases which even the world 
at large has agreed to brand as infamous, but 
rather select some of those not ill-reputed ex- 
amples of it which are more common, are often 
regarded as venial, and sometimes even defend- 
ed as being necessary in carrying on the ordi- 
nary intercourse of social life. 

One of the strangest and saddest, if not one 
of the worst, of these minor examples of insin- 



INSINCERITY. 



63 



cerity is sometimes exhibited in early life. I 
say the strangest example of this sin, for early 
life is a period when we naturally expect to 
find the mind as yet unversed in the crooked 
ways of the world, the temper generous and 
open, the feelings free and outgushing, and the 
heart guileless and truthful. And insincerity at 
this period is the saddest expression of it, since 
a cloud of artifice and deception overspreading 
the morning of life foretokens nothing but a 
dark and dreadful day. Still, strange and sad as 
the phenomenon is, we may see, even in the in- 
genuous and trustful season of boyhood and girl- 
hood, instances of essential and thorough insin- 
cerity. It may be observed sometimes in the in- 
tercourse of young persons with each other, as 
schoolmates or companions. We may see them 
smile, and say pleasant things, and look confid- 
ing looks, address themselves with precocious 
skill to the weak side of their so-called friends, 
be apparently delighted in their society, worm 
themselves into their confidence, and lead them 
to expose all their little infirmities and frailties ; 
and then, of deliberate purpose, in another set 
or circle of associates, deride, ridicule, and ex- 
aggerate the peculiarities of those very persons 
whom they had deceived by their silky and 
seeming friendship. Now, is not this wicked ? 



64 



INSINCERITY. 



Is it not shocking ? Is it not contemptible ? 
Is it not branded as equally wicked and mean 
by every noble, every ingenuous spirit, — 
nay, by every person of decent common hon- 
esty ? Say not that it is thoughtlessly done. 
It is a dark deed, and therefore it should be 
thought of before it is committed. Say not 
that the amusement of the hour was the only 
object. The amusement of the hour should 
never be made to entail lasting misery on the 
innocent sufferer. Say not it was done in sport. 
For whether sportive or not, it is a wrong. It 
is a cruel wrong. It is one that may inflict 
wounds that will fester and rankle for years. 
" As a man who casteth firebrands, arrows, and 
death, so is the man who deceiveth his neigh- 
bour, and saith, Am I not in sport ? " But its 
immediate effect on the happiness of its guilt- 
less victims is not its worst effect. It some- 
times reaches to the permanent states of charac- 
ter. It naturally tends, and some of us may 
have seen sad examples of it in real life, to cre- 
ate, in those who are thus made to suffer, a 
habit of undue reserve, to render them suspi- 
cious of others, to impair all confidence in hu- 
man sincerity, to seal up all the fountains of 
social sympathy, and to render the youthful 
prematurely cautious, calculating, and cold. O, 



INSINCERITY. 



65 



how sad it is to see a young heart, open and in- 
genuous, full of kind affections and radiating 
sympathies, chilled, wounded, and crippled in its 
free action and cordial impulses by the insin- 
cerities and minor treacheries of social life ! 

But examples of this are not confined to the 
period of youth. Would that they were ! 
Would that they might be classed amongst those 
early follies and sins which are ordinarily out- 
grown in maturer life ! But, unhappily, we may 
sometimes find them at those more advanced pe- 
riods when they are less excusable, because they 
are more matters of deliberate purpose and set 
plan. Thus, again, in the ordinary intercourse 
of social life, it is possible to find persons who 
seem to be radiant in smiles at your approach, 
" brightening apparently all over" in their re- 
ception of you, deferential to all your claims, 
real or imaginary, choosing topics of conversa- 
tion supposed to be especially to your liking, 
flattering your prejudices, praising your friends 
and lampooning your foes, carrying on success- 
fully the difficult and delicate flattery of a pleased 
and wrapped attention to your remarks, and, in 
a word, with infinite tact addressing themselves 
systematically, in a thousand indirect and inde- 
scribable ways, to soothe and flatter your self- 
love. 

5 



66 



INSINCERITY. 



Now all this might be well enough, if it were 
only real. All this apparent "love " might even 
be delightful, if it were only " without dissimula- 
tion." But if it be not real, if it be put on for 
merely selfish ends, if it be only skin deep, — a 
superficial gloss spread over their conduct to daz- 
zle your eyes, for the better furtherance of their 
own purposes, — if, as soon as your back is turned, 
you are made the subject of derisive remark for 
the amusement of the next comer, your imper- 
fections and faults seized upon, analyzed, por- 
trayed, illustrated, and made the subject of a 
sportive malice and gay derision, - — then it is not 
well, then it is any thing but delightful. You 
feel, and have a right to feel, that you have been 
deceived, betrayed, and made the victim of a 
perfidious trick. You feel that your just self- 
respect has been wounded, that you have been 
used for the cruel amusement, or, at least, for the 
self-ends, of others ; and the natural effect of 
this " leaven of hypocrisy " is to spread distrust 
through the whole intercourse of social life, and 
poison the fountains of mutual confidence in 
human hearts. 

Need I qualify these remarks ? Need it be 
said that no interference is here intended with 
those gracious courtesies of life, or with those 
amenities of conversation and bearing, by which 



INSINCERITY. 



67 



the intercourse of society is rendered graceful 
and pleasing ? So far from this, one might be 
willing, if it were the only alternative, to be 
occasionally deceived, in a small way, by the 
bland seeming of those around him, rather than 
to have his feelings injured, his proper claims 
disregarded, and his just self-estimate assailed, as 
it sometimes is, by the opposite fault of an im- 
pertinent, bold, harsh, and rasping style of in- 
quiry and remark, which some persons mistake 
for, or, at any rate, choose to call, frankness, 
genuine candor, and truthfulness of bearing. 
It should be our aim, however difficult the task, 
to spread around the stern and uncompromising 
principles of our religion every sincere grace of 
manner, every genuine adornment of outward 
expression, by which they can be recommended 
to others. It is a species of dereliction from 
Christian principles to render them austere, for- 
bidding, and repulsive, and I am afraid that most 
of the prevailing classes of Christians have a 
fearful account to render in this respect. But 
certainly there is no virtue, there is no religious 
worth, in sourness, surliness, or moroseness of 
deportment ; while, on the other hand, true suav- 
ity of manners, true amenity of deportment, true 
attractiveness of bearing, should flow, and can, 
indeed, only truly flow, from that sincere Chris- 



68 



INSINCERITY. 



tian "love which suffereth long and is kind." 
Certainly there is a happy medium between a 
soft, glossy, and snaky insincerity of mien and 
conduct, and those that are hard, rigid, and 
repellent, where a sincere and truthful and yet 
pleasing and winning deportment may find a 
place. Beautiful manners are indeed granted to 
but few persons here below. They imply a se- 
ries of gifts and graces, physical, mental, and 
moral, that are very rarely found united in any 
individual. But kind manners, sincere manners, 
cordial manners, pleasing manners, are within 
the reach of most persons. Their fountain, I say 
again, is love, and none other, — true Christian 
love, that brotherly love which is " kindly affec- 
tioned one to another, in honor preferring one 
another." Let this be deeply seated in the 
heart, and it will be found pervading the mien 
and deportment, adding an untaught grace to 
every action, giving an attractive significance to 
every movement, lighting up the countenance 
with a moral beauty of expression that no sinis- 
ter arts can even distantly approach, and beam- 
ing, as with heavenly light, in countless uncon- 
scious ways, from every part of the character. 
The honest art of pleasing is the most beautiful 
and attractive of all the fine arts, and it is the 
bounden duty of every Christian to acquire it as 



INSINCERITY. 



69 



a means of rightful influence. But it cannot be 
laid on or affixed, as a distinct thing, to the 
character. It cannot be learned from any teach- 
er of manners. No skill, no labor, can produce 
it. But still the way to gain it is entirely sim- 
ple, and it lies open to all. It is only to be, really 
to be, " kindly affectioned " ; it is, I say again, 
to have the love of God and the love of man 
" shed abroad in the soul" ; in a word, it is to 
have and use a sincere religious heart. 

There is another form of insincerity which is 
not wholly unknown among men, though, from 
its horrible atrocity, we might suppose it could 
only be exemplified among fallen spirits in their 
place of doom. I refer to that species of pre- 
meditated hypocrisy and elaborate double-deal- 
ing, which, in the presence and to the face of 
another, assumes a kind, cordial, and friendly 
bearing, blandly smiles at his approach, is tender 
and affectionate in inquiries for the welfare of 
himself and his, applies adroitly the honeyed 
words of direct and indirect flattery, and, having 
thus secured the confidence of its victim, takes 
every fitting opportunity of his absence to asperse 
his character, calumniate his good name, and 
destroy his rightful influence. 

" Look, while he fawns he bites, and when he bites 
His venom-tooth shall rankle to the death." 



70 



INSINCERITY. 



What a deed of darkness is this ! It would seem 
that mere human depravity could no further go ! 
But there is yet a darker shade to be added to 
the dreadful picture. For if the perpetrator of 
this diabolical wrong attempts to conceal his 
agency in the act by the cunning arts of safe 
slander, — such as whisperings in the dark ; in- 
nuendoes ; sly expressions of the face ; significant 
looks : gestures that tell a whole story ; half-sen- 
tences whose whole meaning is sufficiently plain ; 
whole sentences which bear a double meaning : 
forbearing to speak when silence is more calumni- 
ous than words : putting evil thoughts into other 
minds, and then quoting these very thoughts as 
originally theirs to themselves, and then, on their 
authority, to others : conveying evil reports, under 
solemn injunctions of secrecy, to those whom 
they know cannot and will not be faithful to the 
perilous trust ; — if, I say, by these or by any of 
the safer means of detraction and slander the 
smiling foe attempts to conceal his agency, while 
he still " smiles " on as a friend, in the presence 
of his intended victim, then we have an exhibi- 
tion of wickedness that demons might well envy 
and be glad to emulate, were it not indicative of 
a poverty of spirit, of a meanness and despica- 
bleness of soul, from which we might hope that 
even demons would recoil. 



INSINCERITY. 71 

In passing from these illustrations of insin- 
cerity to point out some of its effects, I first 
observe, that one obvious result of it is to break 
up and destroy all mutual confidence among 
men. This is a monstrous social evil. It is one 
that no words can describe. It strikes at the 
very basis of human intercourse. It breaks that 
link in the scheme of affairs without which they 
must all rush into confusion and ruin. Society 
exists only by mutual confidence or trust. Nay, 
it is an instinctive principle of our natures. It 
is an inherent part of the human mind. Soul 
was made to lean upon soul. All the intimate 
relations of life depend upon it, not only for 
their welfare, but for their very being. Children 
are made to place an implicit trust in their pa- 
rents ; and if a parent's confidence in his child 
is shaken, he feels that it were better, a thousand 
times over, that the child had never been born. 
The conjugal tie is one of holiest confidence, 
and if it be not mutually guarded, it were in- 
finitely better that the tie had never been formed. 
Friends trust friends, or their friendship is indeed 
" but a name " ; and even the commonest trans- 
actions of business proceed, and can only pro- 
ceed, upon mutual confidence. He who is in- 
sincere, then, sins against one of the primal 
laws of his being, and by every act of hypocrisy 



72 



INSINCERITY. 



and double-dealing declares himself to be an 
alien and a foe, nay, a traitor, to his kind. 

I next observe, in regard to the effects of in- 
sincerity, that it is useless to him who practises 
it, it is ultimately unavailing, it wholly fails its 
proposed objects. This, as I have intimated, 
were to be expected beforehand, if it be true 
that we are placed, in this world, under the gov- 
ernment of a just and holy God. This, more- 
over, is evident from the nature of the case. 
Facts will and do ultimately tell their own sto- 
ries, and they tell their stories in their own way ; 
and the story they tell is the truth ; and the truth 
ever makes itself felt and acknowledged by that 
constitution of things in which we are placed. 
No act of human agents is or can be insulated, 
that is, taken out of and separated from all others. 
It has its necessary antecedents and necessary 
consequents. It naturally, as we say, springs 
out of the one and leads on to the other. This 
tissue of cause and effect, in human conduct, 
is woven by the Hand Divine, and man cannot 
mar or change it. Hence the folly of attempt- 
ing to foist in or substitute a false fact, that 
is, an artifice or deception of any kind, in the 
place of a real one. It will not serve the turn. 
It will not, and it cannot, perform the duty that 
is laid upon it. It cannot be made to adhere to 



INSINCERITY. 



73 



what goes before, or attach itself to the intend- 
ed result. In the web of human affairs, there- 
fore, an artifice or falsehood cannot be so in- 
terwoven as to conceal the patching. It will be 
as a spot on the disk of the sun, as a blot on 
truth's fair page, as a rent in the seamless robe 
of Innocence. And the attempt, moreover, 
w r hich is commonly resorted to, to hide this 
inherent defect, — that of new falsehoods and 
artifices, — only serves to render it more hideous, 
since they are equally unavailing in themselves, 
and each renders others more and more neces- 
sary. 

But, besides this, the truth ever carries with it 
its own evidence. It always shines by its own 
light. It is the fixed and self-lit star, and not a 
changing and dependent moon. It needs no ex- 
positor. It has its own authentic marks, which 
are universally recognized. What is real and 
true carries with it its own authentic stamp. 
The ignorant, who know little else, know this. 
Children know it. God made the human eye to 
see it, the human mind to mark it, and the hu- 
man soul to love and trust it. Hence the utter 
folly, the utter uselessness, of insincerity in all 
its forms. It may have a temporary success, but 
it is short-lived and suicidal too. 

I close these remarks on the effects of insin- 



74 



INSINCERITY. 



cerity by observing, that it is inevitably followed 
by a result far worse than any which have now 
been stated. It inflicts a dreadful wound on the 
soul of him who practises it. This, indeed, is 
true of all sins. But it is peculiarly so of insin- 
cerity, since it is one of deliberate thought and 
of matured plan. It is conceived and nurtured 
in the secret chambers of the soul, and is pre- 
pared for its fell purpose by pains-taking design. 
It is not one of the sins of impulse or passion, 
which often admit of palliation and apology, if 
not of excuse. They do not necessarily enter 
into the essential character of a man. They 
are sometimes rather the accidents than compo- 
nent parts of it. But insincerity is a chill- 
hearted, a cold-blooded, calculating sin. It is 
not struck out from the temper, or from the ex- 
citable feelings of a man, but it is the result of 
the disposition or set habits of his mind. It is 
not the effect of a transient frame or impetuous 
temperament of the individual, but of the habit- 
ual set or direction of his aims. It is not the 
effect of treacherous circumstances, operating 
but too persuasively on some too easily besetting 
infirmity of character, but it is the result of fore- 
seen and deliberate sinfulness. Hence it enters 
deeply into the very structure of the soul. It 
cripples its real strength. It renders the individ- 



INSINCERITY. 



75 



ual suspicious, distrustful of all human virtue, 
and ever watchful for the same diabolical agency 
in others that he is conscious he is plotting or 
ready to plot against them ; for, mark it where 
you may, it may be taken as a pretty good in- 
dication of character, that the very suspicions 
which one is ready to indulge towards others 
afford often the best clew to the weakest places 
in his own heart. It makes him. in his retire- 
ment, to feel himself to be the poor creature that 
he really is, destroys all solid peace here and 
now, and points to a still sadder reversion here- 
after. Is it not true, then, as I have said, that 
insincerity inflicts a terrible wound on the de- 
ceiver's own soul ? 

I have now left myself no time to speak, as I 
intended, of the decisive instructions of Scrip- 
ture on this subject. Suffice it to say, that the 
results to which we have now been led are sus- 
tained, in the strongest manner, by the express 
teachings of the Saviour. Indeed, there seems 
to be no single sin that so ruffled his truthful 
and calm spirit, as insincerity in all its forms. 
His language to those who practised it rises, in- 
deed, into a strain of awful denunciation. What 
says he ? And let his words be received by you 
as his : — " Woe unto you Scribes and Pharisees, 
hypocrites, for ye are like whited sepulchres, 



76 



INSINCERITY. 



which, indeed, appear beautiful outward, but are 
within full of dead men's bones, and all un- 
eleanness." "Ye serpents, ye generation of 
vipers, how can ye escape the condemnation of 
hell r » 



SERMON VI. 



♦ 

HUMBLE VIRTUES. 

A5D, BEHOLD, THERE ARE LAST WHICH SHALL BE FIRST, AND 
THERE ARE FIRST WHICH SHALL BE LAST.— Luke xiii. 30. 

Our Saviour, here as elsewhere, refers with 
peculiar emphasis to the ultimate arrangement 
that will be made of the condition of men in his 
future kingdom. Then, those, he tells us, who 
are now frequently the last, or lowest, in the 
world's esteem, shall be found the first, or high- 
est, in his. And in nothing, perhaps, at the great 
future and final decision, when all wrong judg- 
ments shall be reversed and set right, will there 
appear a greater disparity between the Divine 
and the human estimate of things, than in regard 
to those persons who shall be prized and honored 
then, and those who are frequently prized and 
honored now. 

The common distinctions of life — such, for 
example, as wealth, rank, local influence, and 



78 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



social position — are real things. They are nei- 
ther to be " explained away," nor " done away.' ? 
There is nothing, perhaps, more unwise, in all 
the multifold schemes of modern reform, than the 
attempt to do so. It was made in ancient times, 
and it has been continually repeated in different 
forms ever since. Still, these social distinctions 
subsist, and must continue to subsist, while the 
nature of man and the essential condition of 
things remain unchanged. When God gave to 
his human creatures different capacities, and dif- 
ferent means of improving these capacities, and 
surrounded them with a different environment of 
circumstances, he thereby determined that these 
relative distinctions should exist, and therefore, 
as I have said, they are neither to be " explained 
away" or " done away," and it is a downright 
folly to attempt it. 

But still, these distinguishing circumstances, 
which* thus lift the few out of the general mass 
of men, and surround them with a sort of lumi- 
nous halo that renders them and their deeds con- 
spicuous to the common gaze, should be rated at 
their real value. They have little and often no 
favorable connection with moral desert. They 
may only add to what a man has, without affect- 
ing what he is. They cannot alter the nature 
of merit and demerit. They belong exclusively 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



79 



to this life. They must soon be laid down, 
with these aching frames of ours, in the undis- 
tinguishing grave. Their light shines not in the 
dark valley of the shadow of death. They will 
be of small account before that final tribunal, 
where moral distinctions alone are regarded, 
where all must stand upon one common level, 
and where, therefore, those who are now last 
may then be first, and those now first then last. 

This thought was earnestly enforced by our 
Lord, but it is one which the world has been 
slow to learn. It has always, indeed, rested up- 
on the minds of the considerate, and is, it may 
be hoped, making a sure though silent way into 
the general mind. Perhaps I may suggest here, 
in a passing word, that it may be taken in illus- 
tration of this, that those fictitious writings, — 
those floods of silliness, with which our land 
is deluged, and which, constituting, as they do, 
almost the sole reading of myriads amongst us, 
may be taken as an exponent of the public taste, 
— those fictitious writings, I say, are now most 
popular, which derive their characters from com- 
mon life, make their interest to depend rather on 
personal traits than on rank and station, go di- 
rectly to those fountains of feeling which exist 
in all hearts, and form their incidents from scenes 
which are ail around us. This change in the 



80 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



popular taste is in the right direction, whatever 
may be the manifestations of it, since it recog- 
nizes substantial distinctions instead of the gew- 
gaws and liveries of mere rank and station. In 
the hope of doing something to abate this very 
natural, I admit, but rather childish, over-estimate 
of these transient and outside distinctions, I shall 
now attempt to show, that the faithful perform- 
ance of the small and obscure duties, so called, 
of ordinary life involves, as a general fact, — 
striking exceptions out of the question, — a 
higher degree, both of mental energy and of 
moral worth, than many, at least, of those pub- 
lic exploits which fix and fill the admiration of 
the multitude, and should, therefore, stand high- 
er in our estimation than they ; that, in a 
thoughtful estimate of conduct, even here and 
now, the last are really the first, the first last. 

There is great danger, in discussing a subject 
like this, of running into vagueness and common- 
place. I shall, therefore, endeavour to establish 
the position I have taken by examples, rather 
than by general reasoning. Take, first, as one 
of these, any of the common run of exploits of 
military renown ; — not because these are particu- 
larly favorable to the object I have in view ; and 
still less, I would particularly remark, are they 
selected for the purpose of joining, even in- 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



81 



directly, in that wholesale denunciation, now 
sufficiently common, of a yet necessary and hon- 
orable calling, and one which no people can, as 
yet at least, wisely or safely dispense with ; — but 
this example is taken simply because it offers 
some definite points of comparison with the 
humble labors of common life, and because they 
are of a character which most readily commands 
the unquestioning admiration of men. Compare, 
then, in a few particulars, the achievements of 
this description with the humble labors of a man 
who is engaged in any of the responsible pro- 
fessions or callings of private life. And the first 
question is, Which of these, ordinarily, requires a 
higher degree of mental energy and resource, — 
or, in one word, mind ? 

Now one of the decisive tests of this mental 
energy and resource is the overcoming of diffi- 
culties in the prosecution of any plan. In which 
case, then, in the two examples before us, are 
these difficulties the greater ? Those, it is ob- 
vious, which beset the military chieftain are 
principally of a merely physical kind. The 
questions he is called to solve regard mainly the 
relative strength of position ; facilities of attack 
and defence ; numerical force of bones, nerves, 
muscles (brute and human), on each side ; and 
these are questions which do not involve much 
6 



82 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



doubt. He has, moreover, always around him 
professional advisers, who are, it may be, wiser 
than himself ; he is left at all times in the un- 
questioned supremacy of his own single will, and 
has, moreover, as the instruments of his sin- 
gle will, multitudes of others, who, on pain of 
death, implicitly obey his bidding. But to con- 
duct wisely and well the duties of any responsi- 
ble profession and employment in private life is 
a far different, and, as I hold, a far more difficult 
business. Here are no definite calculations of 
any kind to be made. Here the question is, not 
concerning physical effects, which can almost be 
weighed or measured, but concerning moral in- 
fluences, which can in no case be accurately 
estimated, and often even not so much as antici- 
pated. Here the conflict is, not with palpable 
agencies, but with opposing feelings, passions, 
prejudices, plans, pursuits, interests, rivalries, and 
ten thousand moral obstacles, within and with- 
out, seen and unseen, which will defeat the best- 
laid plans, and countervail the most determined 
purpose. Here the contention is, not with 
avowed or open foes, but with a deadlier class of 
enemies, — enemies who are unknown, not even 
suspected, — smiling enemies, serpent-tongued 
enemies, enemies who sting and stab in the dark ; 
or those who are scarcely better, with summer 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



83 



friends, half friends : or with the indifferent, the 
cold, the suspicious, the envious, the malignant ; 
or, at any rate, with solid columns of those who 
are wrapped up in their own selfish purposes, and 
who have neither leisure nor inclination to sub- 
serve the purposes of others. Now, if this be so, 
then more talent or mental power, — and this is 
the point now before us, — more talent is, ordi- 
narily, manifested, because more is required, for 
the successful conduct of affairs in private life 
than in a vast proportion of the renowned ex- 
ploits of military prowess. Again, look at the 
comparative encouragements by which these two 
kinds of efforts are animated. The leader of a 
military enterprise acts under the inspiring con- 
sciousness, that the eyes of many are upon him ; 
that he is the object of their eager sympathies ; 
that thousands stand ready to exult in his suc- 
cess and to swell the note of his triumphs. 
While, on the other hand, he who labors in any 
of the vocations of private life has none of these 
animating calls and goads to exertion from with- 
out. He is not the object usually of any enthu- 
siastic hopes. His anxieties gain small sympa- 
thy. His claims are very closely canvassed. His 
pretensions are not freely allowed. His real 
merit is often undervalued ; his success, if won, 
niggardly allowed, And then, as to the result of 



84 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



his labors, it is never palpable, never immediate, 
and rarely great. He may deem himself happy 
if a decent competency be the whole return of a 
life full of anxious toil ; and happy indeed, if, 
when he is called to die, any brighter vision is 
presented to his fainting spirit than that of his 
wife and children — after he himself is gone — 
left, poor and desolate, to the tender mercies of 
such a world as this. 

And once more, consider the duration of the 
conflict. In the former case it is often summed 
up in a few hours of intense effort, which, even 
while they last, are accompanied by a deep inter- 
est and often " stern delight," and which are fol- 
lowed by long periods of inaction and repose. 
In the latter, the labor lasts through life. The 
efforts of yesterday are to be repeated to-day and 
renewed to-morrow ; and the frame and spirits 
which sink away in exhaustion to-night are to 
be taxed with accumulated labors with the re- 
turning sun. Such it is to "hold with fortune 
needful strife." I need not pursue the parallel 
into further detail. It is plain enough from this 
sketch, I think, that, if intellectual power, real 
energy of mind, — and this is the question now 
in hand, — are proved by overcoming difficulties 
in the production of any result, — if want of 
sympathy, and disheartening circumstances, and 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



85 



the continuance of effort are to be taken into the 
account, — then the successful prosecution of 
any of the responsible business of private life is 
a far higher proof of this mental energy than 
success in by far the greater part of those mili- 
tary enterprises at which men gaze in " special 
wonder." 

I present this merely as a specimen case of the 
common circumstances which attend renowned 
and humble life. He who looks at conduct 
calmly and closely and wisely, and does not per- 
mit his ear to be deafened with popular noises, 
or his eye to be dazzled by merely outside show. 
— he who is guarded against the common preju- 
dice of considering actions great because they 
are attended with great palpable results, will 
find what has been said of military renown is 
also, and in the same degree, true of most other 
forms of worldly greatness that men delight to 
honor ; that, in fact, there is more real energy 
of mind required to manage successfully, cheer- 
fully, honorably, and conscientiously the every- 
day duties of an humble lot, than to act almost 
any of the conspicuous parts of society, in the 
world's eye ; and that the true hero, after all, 
even in an intellectual point of view, is the hero 
of private life. But the case is still more clear 
when we view human conduct in a moral and 



86 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



religious light. Without instituting any elabo- 
rate comparison, I shall ask your attention to two 
or three instances of humble and obscure virtue, 
which may be found in all our walks, and leave 
it for all to determine, whether, in point of moral 
worth and true dignity of soul, they fall beneath 
any of the best of those actions of public men 
whom the world delights to honor. Thus, we 
need not go far or look long for persons in the 
lowlier walks of life who earn their daily bread 
by the sweat of their brow, or by the harder 
labor of the laboring brain within the brow, who, 
unpatronized and unhonored by any popular ac- 
clamation, and hopeless of any great success, are 
seen to pass day after day, and all their days, in 
unceasing exertions for small returns ; contending 
with adverse circumstances, preserving their in- 
tegrity at all hazards, faithful to all trusts, kind 
and true in all the social relations ; devoted to 
their families, placing their hearts where they 
have pledged their hands ; exhibiting a true pub- 
lic spirit in all their duties as citizens ; acting 
plainly and avowedly on Christian principles, 
and recognizing habitually in all things their 
Christian responsibleness. We may see all this, 
as I have said, in persons in all the ordinary 
walks of life, with no external or merely tempo- 
ral motives to urge them forward, but in obscu- 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



87 



rity, with no encouragement but the approval of 
their own consciences, and the hope of God's 
approval; — and I submit, whether such persons, 
by their humble and unobtrusive worth, do not 
shame the renown, and remove it to an immeas- 
urable distance, in a moral and religious view, 
many, nay, a vast proportion, of the far-famed 
and mighty ones that stand in the high places of 
this lower world. Let us refer, for a moment, 
to another example of modest, humble, retiring 
virtue which is by no means unfrequently exhib- 
ited. I refer to that of young females, who, it 
may be, having enjoyed the privileges of a happy 
home and good standing in society, are bereft of 
their parents and natural guardians, are left poor 
and unfriended, to provide as they henceforth 
best may for their own support. How hard is 
their lot ! Their hearts are wrung, not only with 
impending trials, but with the remembrance of 
former happiness. Their home is now laid deso- 
late ; parental cares and endearments are now 
gone for ever. They feel, as it were, alone in 
the broad world, and they may read a sad com- 
mentary on their altered fortunes in the averted 
eye and cold looks of former friends. But not- 
withstanding all this, we often behold them 
meekly bending to the will of Heaven, turning 
to any worthy resource that may yet be left for 



88 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



a livelihood, calmly, quietly, industriously, grate- 
fully availing themselves of the few advantages 
that yet remain, shrinking from the most distant 
approach of temptation, and abhorring the very 
idea of sin, seeking their best happiness in the 
society of the few friends who remain, in perusal 
of improving books, in religious offices, in a de- 
vout communion with the Father of the father- 
less. And here, I ask again, do not instances 
like these vindicate, far above the vast majority 
of those splendid deeds that men take note of, 
the true purity, the true dignity and elevation, of 
the female character ? And is it a wild flight of 
fancy of mine to think, that ministering angels 
in heaven look down with complacency and 
sympathizing love upon these their sister angels 
here ? 

I must ask a brief space for one other illustra- 
tion of the same leading thought ; and one, like 
the former, of no infrequent occurrence. I refer 
to that of a widow who, having known better 
days, is suddenly bereft of her nearest earthly 
friend, and who is obliged, with scanty or no 
resources, to provide means of subsistence for 
herself and helpless family. With no limited or 
small opportunities of judging of the different 
grades of human misfortune, I have no hesitation 
in saying that this (sin excepted) is the most 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



89 



bitter of all. I shall spare you and myself any 
elaborate description of the example before us. 
Suffice it to say, that it sums up and concen- 
trates in itself almost all the elements of wretch- 
edness. The cry of children for food, shelter, 
and clothing, which can no longer be duly 
answered ; the constantly returning wants, for 
which there is no adequate provision ; the con- 
scious sense of helplessness, which of itself lies 
like a mountain weight upon the spirit of a lone 
woman; — these, to say nothing of the loss of 
former means of happiness and the desolateness 
that rests on all the future, are sufficient, one 
would think, to break and crush the spirit. But 
still we often see even this dreadful load of ca- 
lamity borne, meekly borne, borne without re- 
pining, borne with an entire resignation to the 
will of God ; and not only so, but made the 
means and end, the occasion, of a high and noble 
range of active and efficient virtue, which a more 
prosperous fortune never could have produced. 
And yet — and this is the point to be regarded 
— such we may see pass through life compara- 
tively unnoticed and unknown, while the deeds 
of those the world calls heroes, but which, in 
truth, exhibit scarcely a trace of equal worth, are 
repeated from mouth to mouth, and chronicled 
as illustrious exploits, and handed down from 



90 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



generation to generation as a national legacy of 
fame. 

It would be very easy to extend these illustra- 
tions. They present themselves to the thought- 
ful observer on every side. I have not so much 
as alluded to an instance of moral worth more 
striking than any I have cited, more striking 
than any which can be cited, — I mean the toils, 
the voluntary sufferings, of a truly Christian 
mother in behalf of her children and her home, 
— that constantly repeated miracle in God's prov- 
idence, that most wonderful specimen of patient 
and self-sacrificing heroism, that is to be found 
on earth. But the examples I have already al- 
luded to may serve to lead your minds to the 
conclusion to which they all tend, namely, that 
there is a very natural, indeed, but an extremely 
unwarranted, I had almost said besotted, defer- 
ence paid, in this present world, to merely exter- 
nal advantages, to the neglect of intrinsic worth, 
in the estimation of conduct and character. The 
fact is very familiar. It arises, notwithstanding, 
from a prejudice which, in the light of common 
sense, is utterly indefinable, and, in a religious 
view, wholly unworthy and singularly false, 

Nor is it merely a speculative error. It is bad 
in its effects, as it is unfounded and wrong in it- 
self. Its plain tendency is to lead men to seek 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



91 



secondary objects instead of the first. It leads 
to a poor and miserable idolatry of wealth, a 
primal, growing curse of our land ; of external 
show, of rank, of influence, of any thing that 
catches the common gaze ; while God and his 
great cause on earth, the great cause of pure, 
high, single-hearted, intrinsic virtue, — in one 
word, the cause of Christian holiness, — is made 
a secondary or no concern. It even leads the 
superficial and unthinking almost to doubt the 
reality of moral distinctions. And while the 
world, as a whole, is paying its slavish and 
ignorant worship at such heathenish shrines, it 
requires more justness of thought, more of men- 
tal liberty, more of sturdy independence of char- 
acter, than belongs to most of us, to retire from 
this idolatrous multitude, and go and pay our 
separate and almost lonely homage in the obscure 
retreats of humble and retiring worth. 

Still, if we would be wise betimes, we shall 
learn to regard conduct and character as they re- 
ally are, according to their intrinsic worth. We 
shall learn to view them as they appear to our un- 
erring Judge on high. We shall learn to estimate 
them now as they will appear at last, and in the 
light of eternity. The distinctions of this world 
make, as I have said, a necessary part of this world 
as it now is, and, in due subordination to higher 



92 



HUMBLE VIRTUES. 



aims, are worthy objects of pursuit. But we 
should never forget that these must all be laid 
down, at the grave's brink, never more to be re- 
sumed. We can carry nothing with us to the 
judgment-seat of Christ but our moral and re- 
ligious characters. And then, then, while those 
who have relied on merely external and acciden- 
tal advantages, and have made these their por- 
tion in this world, shall stand self-convicted of 
their lamentable delusion, the worthy, the true 
nobility of Almighty God, who are now, it may 
be, passing unknown along the humble paths of 
life, as it were princes in disguise, shall be called 
forth from the multitudes that " no man can 
number " to claim their birthright, — to become 
hairs of the " kingdom which was prepared for 
them from the foundation of the world," — to 
take their place "at the right hand of the 
Judge," and be "made to shine, as the stars, for 
ever and ever." " For behold," saith this very 
Judge, " there are last which shall be first, and 
there are first which shall be last." 



SERMON 



VII. 



MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT, 

FOR ALL THE ATHENIANS AND STRANGERS WHICH WERE 
THERE SPENT THEIR TIME IN NOTHING ELSE BUT EITHER 
TO TELL OR TO HEAR SOME NEW THING. — Acts XVli. 21. 

The city of Athens, at the time of St. Paul's 
visit, spoken of in the text, had greatly degen- 
erated from its previous splendor. It was no 
longer the unrivalled seat of arms. arts, letters, 
and general cultivation. The people had now 
become, in an especial manner, even for them, 
factious, versatile, impulsive, frivolous, and idle, 
and were willing to spend their time, in conse- 
quence, "in nothing else, but either to tell or to 
hear some new thing.'' Having little to do. 
and neglecting that little which thev had to do. 
they employed their strenuous idleness, during 
the livelong day, in intermeddling with matters 
with which they had no proper concern. As 



94 MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 

one proof of this, the fact may be cited, that in 
the city of Athens alone there were no less than 
three hundred and sixty Leschai, as they were 
called, which were public places of resort, where 
the common people usually assembled to catch 
up and to scatter the newest prate and the latest 
gossiping of the passing hour ; and in addition 
to all these centres of idle and impertinent talk, 
there were certain stalls or shops where the more 
respectable persons, as they probably considered 
themselves, habitually assembled, to lounge away 
their unoccupied, and therefore worse than worth- 
less lives. 

This love of hearing and telling some new 
thing is one form or manifestation of a depraved 
appetite for mental excitement ; and having been 
ascribed to the Athenians, in the Gospel record, 
in connection with the visit of Paul, it will con- 
tinue to confer upon them, as it has thus far, an 
unenviable notoriety while this record lasts. But 
this depraved appetite for excitement, which with 
the Athenians assumed the distinctive form al- 
luded to in the text, has not been confined to 
them. It is a disease that is restricted to no 
place. It is endemic with all people, and is re- 
produced in all ages. It will be varied, indeed, 
in its manifestations by varying circumstances, 
but is essentially the same in all its forms. It 



MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 95 



may be worth while, therefore, to ascertain what 
character it takes in more modern times and in 
more modern places. And this is the inquiry I 
now propose to pursue. 

And, first, it is worth consideration, whether 
that peculiar form in which this unhealthy thirst 
for mental excitement was so pitiably manifested 
among the Athenians, namely, a morbid desire 
" either to tell or to hear some new thing,' 7 has 
entirely died out. It is to be hoped, indeed, that 
the number of those persons is very small, who, 
like this ancient people, u spend their time in 
nothing else for every serious person, nay, 
every person, who takes so much as an occasion- 
al glimpse at the religious responsibilities of this 
probationary state, must feel that it is a crying 
sin and shame to waste life " in nothing else " 
than in hearing or telling some new thing. It 
is to be hoped that our modern Leschai, or 
places of resort where idlers do congregate, if 
such there be, are not quite so numerous in pro- 
portion to the population of any place as they 
were in ancient Athens. Certain it is, that in 
the wider scope of enterprise, and amid the more 
diversified employments of modern times, there 
is less need of, and therefore less apology for, 
such haunts of vacant curiosity. But still, I 
suppose, it must be admitted that such places do 



96 MORBID -APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 



not remain, even now, to be imagined. They 
are not wholly unheard of, unknown, or unfre- 
quented. Nor is the intemperate appetite for 
news confined to them. Its presence is indicated 
often in the first greeting we hear in the streets, 
and in the morbid avidity with which some 
"new thing," either true or false, and particu- 
larly with regard to persons and character, — the 
sacredest thing on earth, — is caught up and cir- 
culated. Waiving other illustrations of this, as 
unfitting the time and place, I may observe it has 
given origin to, and finds the principle of grati- 
fication and growth in, those myriad productions 
of the lower daily press, whose great capital is 
small talk ; and we see its melancholy ascenden- 
cy in the fact, that those penny journals of this 
description which are the most unprincipled, the 
most ruthless in their attacks on private charac- 
ter, the most irrespective of all that is good and 
holy, and which are said to have conferred on 
us, as a people, the unenviable reputation of 
having the worst newspaper literature that exists 
on the broad earth, — these are the very journals 
which receive the most affluent and wide-spread 
patronage, and build up princely fortunes for 
these public panders of a depraved taste who 
conduct them. If this be so, then that form 
of diseased appetite for excitement which is 



MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 



97 



manifested in hearing and telling some new 
thing, which gave to the Athenians a bad dis- 
tinction at the time of PauPs visit, has not been 
wholly confined to them : and we, even we, 
should read this portion of the sacred record 
with a thoughtful reference to the habits of our 
own times. 

Another manifestation of the same depraved 
appetite for mental excitement is exhibited in 
matters of business. The habits of former times 
in this respect are greatly changed. The reg- 
ular and safe, and, as it may be thought by 
some, the plodding routine of our fathers, is now 
held in low esteem. That mode in the conduct 
of affairs by which sure though small returns 
were preferred to those which, if great, are con- 
tingent and precarious, has often given place, of 
late years, to one of rash speculation, dashing 
adventure, and a wholesale trading on moonshine 
capital. The system of credit, which, properly 
guarded, is the very life of commerce, has been 
shamelessly abused. Business, which was in- 
tended, in Divine providence, to be made a 
worthy and healthful, as well as necessary, em- 
ployment and discipline, both of mind and body, 
has too much become a game of chance, and is 
too often pursued in a spirit of gambling. "Well 
did the wise man say, 11 He that maketh haste 
7 



98 MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 

to be rich shall not be innocent." No, he shall 
not be innocent, he cannot be innocent. By thus 
rendering business a desperate hazard, he makes 
that which of itself is naturally but too engross- 
ing to become an all-absorbing concern ; he 
wickedly puts in jeopardy, for his own selfish 
advantage, property not his own, and property, 
it may be, of the widow and the orphan, of the 
innocent and unsuspecting, who have trusted to 
his probity and honor, — a deed of darkness 
which is little better than an absolute embezzle- 
ment ; and he is naturally led, and there are 
woful instances of the fact continually occurring, 
to redeem his all but necessary failures by the 
practice of outright offences against the laws of 
the land. 

And in connection with this feverish excite- 
ment in business may be mentioned, in passing, 
an habitual impatience of quiet and repose, a 
restless desire for change of place, which is con- 
fined to no class of persons. It seems to l^g the 
reigning passion of some individuals to be some- 
where where they are not, and this, too, wher- 
ever they are. The calm and regular pursuits of 
a private sphere of duty, the heart-born pleasures 
of family intercourse, become tame and tasteless ; 
the great science and art of living quietly and 
happily at home is postponed and unlearned ; 



MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 99 

while excitement, which becomes the great aim 
of existence, is sought out of the tranquil walks 
of ordinary duty, — in company, in public, in ful- 
some idolatry of some passing popular favorite, 
in public lectures, in a full chase after the latest 
novelty of the hour, or at that great iC school of 
morals.*' so called, the modern theatre ! The 
same motive is not wanting, perhaps, in the out- 
door philanthropy of the present day, which is 
manifested in the establishment of all sorts of 
societies for and against all sorts of things, and 
in every species of ultraism in reform. Any 
thing, anywhere, it should seem, if it only min- 
ister to a morbid appetite for excitement, is 
preferable to the dull routine of regular employ- 
ment, to the calm pleasures of domestic life. 

And the same restless desire is exhibited in 
the migratory habits of the people, and in the 
provision which is made to meet and gratify 
these habits. The great mass of our people 
seem to be on the move, and human ingenuity 
is taxed to supply the means of motion. The 
sublime language of the Prophet, in which a 
great moral progress is emblemed forth, is almost 
literally realized on this palpable earth of ours. 
" Every valley/' says he, in his own graphic 
style, " shall be exalted, and every mountain 
and hill shall be made low ; and the crooked 



100 MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 

shall be made straight, and the rough places 
plain." The hitherto over-mastering elements 
are chained, and made to labor like slaves, at hu- 
man bidding, to transfer man from place to place. 
The seas, which formerly divided the nations 
by their trackless wastes, are now virtually, and 
for all practical purposes, drained dry, Distant 
places are brought into near neighbourhood, and 
the old romantic wish, that would " annihilate 
time and space," seems now scarcely extrava- 
gant. 

The same morbid love of excitement is mani- 
fested in the current reading of the day ; read- 
ing, I say, for it deserves not the name of litera- 
ture, since this implies something somewhat 
recondite and permanent. And what is this 
current reading ? I have already adverted to 
those countless productions of the daily press 
which pander to an idle curiosity, and which, it 
is a melancholy fact, constitute the sole reading 
of a vast majority of those who read at all. But 
to these may be added those silly and trashy 
novels and romances, which are now crammed 
into a single mammoth sheet that they may be 
sent at small expense, and on the wings of all the 
winds, into every town and village, and nook 
and corner, of our broad land, for the benefit of 
those numerous persons, in or out of their teens, 



MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 101 

who are anxiously waiting for the newest version 
of the ten-millionth repetition of the same out- 
worn incidents. Then, too, that misanthropic, 
convulsive, "satanic school" of poetry, which 
places its scenes amid blood and rapine, seeks its 
heroes among the candidates for the gallows, 
idolizes pirates and robbers, and throughout gives 
precedency to the unsocial, black, and revenge- 
ful emotions over all those sweet virtues and 
charities that render life holy and happy, — a 
school of poetry to which not even the authen- 
tic genius of its founder could give a permanent 
vitality. Yet this, too, has its favorers, and re- 
mains at once the evidence and the aliment of a 
diseased hankering after excitement. But, pass- 
ing this with this brief notice, and also wholly 
passing, without any remark, that rage for politi- 
cal and party excitement which is the primal 
and all-pervading curse of the country, I refer to 
one other illustration of the same general fact, 
better befitting, perhaps, this place and service. 

This is a diseased appetite for excitement in 
the concerns of religion. And this is at once 
the most melancholy, and one of the most com- 
mon forms in which the disease is manifested. 
I hope I need not pause here to say, for the hun- 
dredth time, that it is a diseased excitement of 
which I speak, and not of that earnest serious- 



102 MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 

ness and enlightened zeal, without which there 
can be no religion that deserves the name. That 
of which I speak is as different from this as 
sickness from health, the fevered rushing of 
the blood from its healthful flow, the misrule of 
the passions from the tranquil energy of princi- 
ple, the spasms of fitful emotion from the clear 
and consequent action of a settled purpose and 
an enlightened will. While the one is to be 
deprecated as a dreadful evil in any community, 
the other is to be cherished as its most important 
interest. I wish this to be kept distinctly in 
view throughout my remarks on the subject. 
And I ask, yet further, that it may be considered 
I am dealing with a fact, a substantive fact, an 
astounding fact, as it really exists in our com- 
munity, — one which is in a great degree peculiar 
to our country, and especially exhibited in our 
times ; - — a fact which we cannot keep out of 
view if we would, and ought not if we could. 
It is pressed upon our attention at all times, and 
on every side, and with very extraordinary pre- 
tensions. We must meet it, therefore, whatever 
be our preferences upon the subject, because we 
cannot avoid it. I am aware that it involves 
much feeling, and feeling that runs in opposite 
directions ; yet we must contend with this inci- 
dental difficulty as we may, and endeavour to 



MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 103 



look at the subject calmly and seriously, as it is, 
to ascertain its true bearings, and then, under 
our solemn and individual responsibility as Chris- 
tians, to act accordingly. 

I know that a feverish excitement is often tol- 
erated, nay, that it is often regarded with favor, 
because it is connected with the subject of re- 
ligion. It is indeed so connected ; and so much 
the worse ; on this very account it is especially 
to be deprecated. It is because the interest at 
stake is all-concerning, that I would guard it 
from every injurious agency. It does not follow, 
certainly, because our religion itself is divine, that 
it therefore lends a holy consecration to every 
thing that mortal men choose to do in regard to 
it. On the contrary, when this pure faith, whose 
high prerogative it is to regulate and tranquillize 
the mind, is made the means of exciting it to a 
diseased action, the result must be deplorable 
indeed. It is converting the manna of heaven 
into poison. It is the perversion of what is best, 
and therefore a desperately bad perversion. The 
very sacredness of the interest concerned imposes 
upon us especially the high, the solemn, the un- 
avoidable duty of guarding it from all injurious 
influences, from all debasing associations. 

The question, then, is legitimately and plain- 
ly before us, and it is this : — If we analyze many 



104 MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 



professedly religious processes and habits which 
prevail around us into their component parts, 
shall we not find a love of mere earthly excite- 
ment the real and reigning, if not the conscious 
or even suspected motive, even here? What, 
for example, is — nay, what must be — the effect 
of those professedly religious operations which are 
now habitually and of set purpose resorted to, 
throughout our land, to create and sustain a re- 
ligious sensation, so called, in the community? 
I say nothing in disparagement of the motive of 
these operations. I am willing to believe it 
is often well intended ; but the question now 
before us is, What is their real nature and their 
real result ? What is the fact ? — the fact, I say ? 
And I call upon all Christians here present, 
whether favorers or not of these movements, to 
meet the question on this plain and simple issue. 
Is not, in the first place, excitement the end ? 
Is not excitement the means ? And is any thing 
left undone to excite, to spread, and to perpetu- 
ate excitement ? The ordinary means of relig- 
ious instruction and worship are regarded as 
utterly unequal to meet the emergency. New 
and until recently unheard-of measures are put 
in requisition. The Lord's day, which is gra- 
ciously set apart in the Christian dispensation 
as one of rest and peace, as well as of public re- 



MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 105 



ligious services, is so crowded with public meet- 
ings as to leave little space for the no less impor- 
tant duties of quiet self-communion, and for the 
thrice-blessed intercourse of families in the do- 
mestic circle. These public meetings are ex- 
tended, hour after hour, throughout the week. 
The bell which announces them mingles strange- 
ly its solemn sounds with the hum of busy life. 
Ordinary employments are frequently deserted, 
incumbent engagements unfulfilled, domestic 
cares, and, may I not add, domestic duties, gross- 
ly and wickedly neglected. The streets and 
highways are thronged, at unwonted hours, by 
those who promote or share the wide-spread ex- 
citement. It assails us in the form of the most 
ignorant and vulgar fanaticism, and it presents 
itself in the dainty dress of a studied and ornate 
display of rhetoric. The most stirring appeals 
are made, by those most skilled in making them, 
to the most powerful emotions and passions of the 
human soul. Theological seminaries send out 
their most zealous young men to engage in the 
work, and veterans in such service often come 
from a distance to aid or to supersede the regular 
religious instructors. Itinerants of all grades, 
who make it their business, if not their trade, to 
create this morbid excitement, penetrate to all 
places. No spot, scarcely, is sacred from their in- 



106 



MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 



trusion. All the sympathies of private life, and 
that peculiarly contagious and subduing emotion 
that radiates through crowds, are equally en- 
gaged in a common service, and. yielding to a 
common impulse, are all brought to bear in 
furtherance of the same common object. Invi- 
tations, exhortations, entreaties, persuasions, 
prayers, and tears, by night and by day, in sea- 
son and out of season, at all hours, are put in 
requisition to spread still wider and wider the 
general stir. Chronicles are kept of its melan- 
choly details, and its progress heralded over the 
land as a token of the special presence and mi- 
raculous agency of the spirit of God on the 
souls of men. In fine, nothing, almost literally 
nothing, is left undone to create this excitement 
where it does not exist, and to sustain it where 
it does. And what is the result ? Excitement, 
— excitement, if you please, on a religious sub- 
ject, — but still a morbid, feverish, often half- 
crazy excitement, in which the feelings run riot, 
and the mind, the intellect, all that makes man 
a man, are for the time enthralled and paralyzed. 
The times are redolent of this sort of excite- 
ment. The age is sick with it. How long it is 
to be tolerated among us remains to be seen. It 
thrives well yet. Communities calling them- 
selves enlightened go in herds, and flocks, and 



MORBID APPETITE FOB EXCITEMENT. 107 



droves, to engage in it, or, what is scarcely bet- 
ter, to witness it, and thereby countenance and 
sustain it. Crowds like the stir. The mass of 
men always favor any thing which creates a 
strong sensation, and this serves to vary the mo- 
notony of their every-day life. The indifferent 
are amused. The scoffers laugh. And many 
good Christians, though they disapprove of much 
that is thus done, yet lend to it a qualified further- 
ance, under the dreadful mistake that the end 
will justify the means. And thus it prevails. 
Thus it triumphs. 

It will be observed that I am simply stating 
facts here, — notorious facts, facts which are with- 
in the personal knowledge of all who hear me. 
And if so, do they not sustain the position, that, 
in regard to many of the so-called religious move- 
ments of the day, excitement is really, if not con- 
fessedly, the beginning, middle, and end of the 
whole operation ; that excitement constitutes its 
vital principle, its real charm ; and that this ex- 
citement, moreover, is often in fact, if not neces- 
sarily, so debased with earthly admixtures as to 
render it, at best, but a very questionable good. 
Certainly we need not to be told that our feel- 
ings, passions, and emotions are but blind guides. 
They occupy a place, indeed, and a very impor- 
tant one, in the economy of our natures ; but it 



10S MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 

is always a subordinate one. They were never 
intended to be leaders, but helpers and servants. 
They are necessary to give effect to the convic- 
tions of the mind ? but are never to take authority 
over these convictions. They were appointed to 
move in subjection to the discerning and reflec- 
tive powers by Him who made our natures, and 
if they be permitted to step over the bounds thus 
assigned to them, nothing but error and mistake 
and confusion will be the inevitable consequence. 
This obvious truth we recognize in all our im- 
portant earthly interests. We distrust ourselves 
where we are strongly interested. We know 
that they are ever surrounded by an atmosphere 
which presents all things to us under false and 
deceptive hues, and in unreal and distorted atti- 
tudes. And shall these plain dictates of reason 
and common sense, and the clearest duty, be dis- 
regarded in the highest concern of all, the wel- 
fare of the immortal soul ? Is the authentic 
voice of God only to be heard amid the rush and 
turmoil of excited feeling? Is it only in the 
troubled pool of emotion that our spiritual dis- 
eases are to be healed ? 

But, before parting with this topic, I am anxious 
that I may be fully understood. It is no part of 
the scope or tendency of these remarks to dis- 
countenance all excitement on the subject of 



MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 109 

religion. It is, on the contrary, in this as in all 
things else, a legitimate and essential principle. 
The great problem presented to rational and en- 
lightened Christians to solve, at the present day, 
is, how to make a worthy and profitable use of 
any newly-awakened interest on the subject of 
religion, without yielding to the folly and excess 
to which it always tends and often leads. Any 
thing, certainly, is better than that quiet reaction 
against excessive action, that sluggish excitement 
against excitement, which keeps religious feeling 
always at the lowest ebb, turns the pulpit into a 
gently swelling fountain of soothing common- 
places, and converts churches into peaceful dor- 
mitories where the soul may sleep the undisturbed 
death-sleep of a religious indifference, Sunday 
after Sunday, until the days of probation are 
ended. O, any thing but this ! give me a fever 
heat, with all its excesses, rather than this. 
Nothing, in the very nature of things, of any 
high moment, in religion ^as in all things else, 
can be effected without excitement. But what 
excitement ? What in kind and what in de- 
gree ? Not that which is unreasonable and 
excessive, unauthorized by God's word. Not 
that which is turbulent, noisy, and obtrusive. 
Not that which is uncharitable, self-opinionated, 
and censorious. Not that which leads to the 



110 MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 



neglect of families, appropriate business, and in- 
cumbent duties. Not that which is made a mere 
means of proselytism and party movement, and 
which puts the dearest interests of men in this 
world in the power and at the disposal of a spe- 
cies of contrivance and enginery which the low- 
est and coarsest and most vulgar of spirits may 
put and keep in motion. Not that which checks 
generous inquiry and enlightened research into 
the oracles of God, and fetters the mental liberty 
wherewith Christ has made us free. But it is 
an excitement, or, as I would rather say, it is a 
deep, heartfelt earnestness in religion, which 
makes us feel it as the soul's great concern ; an 
earnestness too deep and full and strong to be 
liable to ebbs and flows and transient fluctua- 
tions ; an earnestness which is manifested more 
in securing ends than in multiplying means ; an 
earnestness which makes us zealous in the dis- 
charge of all duties, each in their place and order : 
in a word, it is that mild, kind, tranquil, sedate, 
calm, steady, uniform, sustained, subdued, and 
regulated earnestness of spirit and bearing, which 
especially and sublimely marked the character of 
our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. My friends, 
it is my earnest prayer for you and for myself, 
that our whole hearts and lives may be pervaded 
and consecrated by an earnestness like this. 



MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. Ill 

But the love of excitement in religious matters 
rests not here. It assumes forms less sincere and 
earnest, and therefore far less tolerable, than this. 
It is often manifested, in the next place, in an 
impatience of what is old and settled, in the de- 
sire of change, as change, and in a pursuit of 
novelty for novelty's sake. 

Let any, for example, imagine that they have 
out-studied all that the wisest and best men of 
former times have held to be most true and sa- 
cred, and in the plenitude of their ignorance and 
conceit recklessly broach old and long since ex- 
ploded theories of irreligion, under the gross mis- 
take that they are as new to others as they are 
to themselves ; let them, in their self-idolatry, go 
the whole length of repudiating the authority of 
all religion which does not take its measure and 
its rule from the transcending suggestions and 
impulses and intuitions of their own minds ; let 
them virtually thrust Jesus from his place as the 
authentic Teacher from God, and seat themselves 
there ;— still, in this virtually Godless and Christ- 
less state, they will not be left alone : but ever 
they will find persons who, like the versatile 
Athenians in Paul's time, will go meekly and 
ask, — "May we know what this new doctrine 
whereof thou speakest is ? " 

Or let any suppose that it has fallen to their 



112 MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 

favored lot to find the long-lost key to the dark 
prophecies of old, so that they can predict the 
precise period when this present world, " with 
all that it inhabits," shall come to an end : here, 
again, though these professed seers possess not a 
ray of that learning which can alone entitle them 
to the least attention, yet here, again, there will 
not be wanting crowds who will go and lend a 
patient, and, it may be, a trusting ear to their 
elaborate folly. 

Or let a higher demand still be made on hu- 
man credulity : let those appear who claim to be 
nothing less than the apostles of a new religious 
dispensation, to have dug out of the earth a new 
Bible, and, with an arrogance in perfect keeping 
with such a claim, presume and pretend to work 
miracles in support of it : and even they will find 
numerous proselytes to their impious absurdity. 

Or it may be that the love of excitement may 
not wait for such grave occasions as these to call 
it forth. Almost any attraction is found to be 
sufficient to lure away portions of our religious 
audiences from their accustomed places of wor- 
ship in pursuit of almost any novelty, and to en- 
gage, by their presence, at least, in those dubious, 
or worse than dubious, scenes to which I have 
referred. They intend no disrespect for religion, 
or for those who minister regularly at her altars, 



MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 113 



and would be the last, perhaps, deliberately to do 
any thing to interrupt the usual order of religious 
services, or to lower their dignity, or put in se- 
rious jeopardy their own religious improvement, 
or disregard or blight the feelings of their chosen 
religious teachers. But they are led, they will 
tell you, as the Athenians of old, by a vague 
motive of curiosity " to hear some new thing," 
or, like them, to learn what some " babbler " may 
say. But will this excuse stand for an instant 
the searching test of Christian principle ? Curi- 
osity ! — a vague curiosity ! Is this a proper mo- 
tive to lead us to a professedly religious service ? 
— to the house of prayer ? — to an avowed com- 
munion with Almighty God ? Does it not lead 
us to lend the whole influence of our example to 
scenes and inculcations which in our inmost souls 
we disavow and loathe ? For while our outward 
presence is seen and noted, the motive that led 
us there cannot be seen or known. Does it 
not, in fine, involve the acting of a double part, 
namely, that of seeming to be real worshippers 
in a religious service, while yet, at the same 
time, in fact, and as we are seen by our God, we 
are actuated by no higher motives than those 
which would lead us to a scenic show or to the 
theatre ? 

These illustrations might be easily extended, 
8 



114 MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 

but enough, perhaps, have been offered to evince 
that the same morbid love of excitement which 
led the idle Athenians in the days of Paul to 
spend their time in nothing else than in telling or 
hearing u some new thing " has not yet passed 
away. It is still manifested in the selfsame way, 
though not perhaps quite in the same degree, as 
it was then. It may be traced in the gambling 
spirit of many business operations. It is seen in 
that restlessness which seeks relief in change of 
place, in rapid movements, and in a disrelish of 
the quiet engagements of life. It creates a thirst 
for that species of reading whose tendency is 
rather to excite than to teach. And, above all, 
it is exhibited in many acts and habits relating 
to public religious services. 

And now, in drawing near to a conclusion of 
these remarks, let not their true import be mis- 
taken. It is not that this want of excitement 
should be wholly disarmed and repudiated. It 
is-, I am aware, an inherent and ever-craving 
want of the soul. Under the form of a prurient 
curiosity, it led our first mother to taste of the 
forbidden tree ; in different forms it has tempted 
all her children to excess and sin ever since, and 
will doubtless continue to tempt on, until her 
last child dies. It is not, therefore, to be exter- 
minated in human bosoms ; — and this is not de- 



MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 115 



sixable, if it were possible. It has, like all the 
inherent principles of our nature, its appropriate 
use, its proper end. But to secure this use and 
promote this end, it must be controlled by high 
principles, and made subservient to worthy pur- 
poses : and this is the great result to which all 
these remarks have been tending, and it is one 
so obvious that it needs no further illustration 
here and now. Nor let these remarks be con- 
sidered as ultra-conservative in their drift and 
tone. They only favor that conservatism which 
prefers the equal glow of health to the partial 
and fitful paroxysms of disease, — a conservatism 
which holds that something stable and ascer- 
tained must be the basis of all real progress, — 
a conservatism which believes that the true pur- 
poses of this life are better secured by quiet fidel- 
ity and earnestness in some appropriate calling, 
than in the blind and heated competition of a 
race. 

But there is one practical use which is to be 
derived from this train of thought, that ever needs 
to be inculcated. It is to guard against the 
prevalent mistake of those — and their number 
is large, and increasing every day — who place 
their happiness where it never, never can be 
found, — namely, in high-toned excitements. 
In the very nature of things, these must be of 



116 MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 



rare occurrence, and they are necessarily fol- 
lowed by a depression exactly proportional to 
their degree. They can, at best, therefore, oc- 
cupy but a small place in the scheme of life. 
Their tendency, moreover, is ever to excess, 
and excess in all its forms leads on inevitably 
to misery and ruin. But true happiness must 
be found, if found on earth, in the ceaseless 
though unexciting gratifications of regular em- 
ployment, — employment which is well said, by 
a great utilitarian moralist,, to be " the very 
material of a contented existence " ; in the due 
pursuit of worthy ends by worthy means ; in 
the legitimate exercise of all the faculties : in 
the conscientious performance of every known 
duty ; in the minor blessings which blossom like 
spontaneous flowers around the path of daily 
toil ; in a thoughtful kindness and courtesy 
towards the claims of others : in the culture of 
the sincere pleasures of the heart ; in hopeful 
labors of love ; in " fireside enjoyments and 
home-born happiness " ; and above all, in the ten- 
der and solemn offices of our religion, and in a 
sure and unfaltering confidence in the present 
approval and future acceptance of our God. It 
is here, and thus, I repeat it, that human happi- 
ness is to be found, if found anywhere, or in any 
way, here below ; while, on the other hand, a 



MORBID APPETITE FOR EXCITEMENT. 117 

fevered pursuit of mere excitement in any of its 
forms will not only infallibly defeat its own ob- 
ject, but necessarily involve much palpable and 
outright guilt. It promotes and exasperates a 
diseased state of the mind and heart. It leads 
directly to all the varied sins of omission and 
unprofitableness : to a prodigal waste of life ; to 
a forgetfulness of the deep solemnity of living in 
such a probationary state as this, and of that all- 
concerning future retribution in which these 
hours of probation are soon to terminate. 



* 



% 



SEEMON VIII. 

VALUE OF A DAY. 

YET A LITTLE WHILE THE LIGHT IS WITH YOU : WALK WHILE 
YE HAVE THE LIGHT, LEST DARKNESS COME UPON YOU. — 

John xii. 35. 

There are certain periods in all our lives, 
which, unless we are wanting in the ordinary 
seriousness of human nature, irresistibly lead us 
to solemn and searching thought. Such, for 
instance, are the anniversaries of our birth, or of 
the birth of those dear to us, — those days which 
remind us, by their occurrence, of some signal 
mark of God's goodness, or of some success wor- 
thily attained, or of some important change in 
life, or of some deliverance from impending dan- 
ger, or of the death of a friend. 

When such anniversaries as these occur, the 
nature and issues of human life, and the impera- 
tive conditions upon which life is holden, are 
pressed in upon the mind with an unwonted 



VALUE OF A DAY. 



119 



urgency. But while such thoughts are pecu- 
liarly befitting such seasons, they should by no 
means be confined to them. Every ordinary day 
in its religious aspect has a priceless value, and 
we shall never make the most and best of life, 
considered as a whole, until we learn properly to 
estimate its separate parts, and to connect every 
passing day with that final, never-ending one 
which will ere long dawn upon the night of our 
graves. With this view, I propose to offer a few 
suggestions on the religious uses and importance 
of every current, ordinary day of life. 

One of the first thoughts that is thus suggested 
is, that every day, as it opens upon us, is fraught 
with new expressions of Divine goodness. The 
heart religiously impressed sees in every rising 
dawn new and affecting tokens of God's gracious 
care. They are strikingly visible in the material 
world around us. A few hours since, the sun 
went down in darkness, the face of creation was 
veiled in night ; human labors were suspended, 
and a gloom — eternal, for aught that men could 
know or do — had settled down upon the world. 
But now a glorious change has taken place. The 
darkness is dissipated. The deep silence which 
had prevailed is now, by degrees, broken by the 
continually increasing sounds of awakening life 
and returning activity. Every thing has been 



120 



VALUE OF A DAY. 



preserved in safety, and not only so, but every 
thing seems refreshed and gladdened by tempo- 
rary repose : and all creation is bathed again in 
the bright and balmy effulgence of morn. The 
sun himself appears clothed in new glory, as con- 
trasted with the subdued splendor of his setting, 
and has come forth again refreshed, as it were, 
from the "chambers of the east," to pursue his 
bright, unerring path, an emblem at once of the 
faithfulness and unstinted beneficence of our 
God. 

Here, then, is a new expression of Divine love. 
How often it is lost upon us by its commonness 
and familiarity ! But it is, in fact, " a repetition 
of the earlier day/' and is as august a manifesta- 
tion of infinite power and goodness as was the 
first morning that dawned upon the world. This 
preservation of the universe is no less a miracle 
of Divine love than was its creation in the first 
place, — and every new day should prompt emo- 
tions of admiration and gratitude similar to those 
which would have filled our bosoms, if we, like 
the first man, had for the first time then opened 
our eyes on the glorious scene. 

But we find, on the opening day, that God's 
goodness has not been limited to the material 
universe. It has been even more richly extended 
to us, his rational offspring. Wearied with cares 



VALUE OF A DAY. 



121 



and labors, and exhausted in body and in mind, 
we lately sank into repose. We lay helpless, 
and, so far as any agency of ours was concerned, 
completely exposed to ten thousand accidents. 
Our senses were steeped in forgetfulness, all our 
capacities of effort were buried as in the repose 
of the grave. We were, in fact, so far as any 
help remained in us, as if dead, — as if the clods 
of earth where we shall finally repose had rested 
upon our bosoms. But though thus helpless and 
exposed, we were not forgotten in the goodness 
of our God. It is an affecting thought, that His 
ministering care was around us while we of our- 
selves were helpless. We were lost in forgetful- 
ness, but we were remembered of Him. He 
watched over us. He preserved us. He kept 
every hurtful thing from us ; and He it is, and 
only He, who has now awoke us to life and con- 
sciousness again. But more than this, this tem- 
porary oblivion has been the means of new life 
and vigor. Our faculties have been refreshed, as 
well as preserved ; inspired with new energy, as 
well as kept from destruction. These minds, 
which a few hours before were weak and inca- 
pable of exertion, have been recovered to new 
consciousness of power, and this, too, without 
any agency of ours. We are now prepared to take 
up with more efficient earnestness those trains 



122 



VALUE OF A DAY. 



of thought which, a little while since, we laid 
down in weariness, and which no effort of our will 
could retain. We now have a strong hold again 
on the purposes of life, which then vanished 
from our grasp like dreams. We are again the 
centres and sources of kind affections. In a 
word, life, renovated life, life endowed with new 
capacities, has taken the place of a temporary 
death. Temporary death ! But why was it 
temporary ? Why was it not final ? Why was 
not the sleep an eternal one ? It was wholly 
owing to His gracious care. It was His adora- 
ble love that helped us in our helplessness, and 
through the silent and gracious ministry of sleep 
awoke us to renewed life and energy. And if 
we have hearts within us, and those hearts are 
not wholly hardened by indifference, selfishness, 
and worldly cares, we shall view this restora- 
tion from this temporary death of sleep with 
feelings of devout thankfulness, similar to those 
with which we anticipate our final resurrection 
from the grave. 

And this emotion of gratitude for the blessings 
of the opening day should be enhanced by the 
thought, that what God has thus granted to us 
is also, in boundless munificence, granted in 
succession to countless tribes of men, through- 
out this lower world. Each in turn, as our 



VALUE OF A DAY. 



123 



globe of earth revolves, is brought to the glo- 
rious sunlight ; whole nations, like us, are awak- 
ened from helplessness and self-oblivion to a new 
existence, and successive myriads, at each suc- 
cessive hour, hail, as we do, their opening day, 
as the signal for new efforts, new enjoyments, 
and a new participation in the engrossing inter- 
ests of life. Our feelings of individual gratitude, 
then, for these daily renewed blessings, should 
all be multiplied and enhanced by the thought, 
that they are not confined to us, but are, in 
like manner, dispensed in rich beneficence to 
all the millions of our fellow-men. But this 
statement is not strictly accurate. It must be, 
in some measure, qualified. These blessings 
are not, literally speaking, bestowed upon all. 
Some, during the darkness, were deprived of 
them by the chastening hand of God, and some 
have lost them by their own perverseness and 
guilt. The morning, which has thus opened in 
love and promise upon us, brings no " healing on 
its beams," for example, to the sick, the wretch- 
ed, or forlorn. The night, which to us was a 
season of repose and refreshment, was to them a 
period of distress and anguish. And c r gain, there 
are others worse occupied, — those who seized 
upon this beneficent season of darkness as an op- 
portunity for those deeds of darkness that shun 



124 



VALUE OF A DAY. 



the light. Upon them the sun rises with no 
cheering ray. He has no vivifying beams for 
their sin-sick souls. They have a darkness with- 
in that no sunlight can disperse. They stand 
rebuked amidst the glories of the opening morn. 
They recoil from the fresh effulgence of the day, 
lest they should stand revealed to others as they 
stand, in all the horrors of remorse, revealed to 
themselves. Upon such all the gracious bless- 
ings of God, which are new every morning of 
our lives, are lost, worse than lost, since they 
only serve to remind them of their unworthiness, 
and upbraid them with their guilt. 

And there is yet another class to whom the 
morn brings with it no fresh tokens of God's 
love. Not only sleep, the image of death, has 
rested upon them, but the very sleep of death it- 
self. With them the tale of life is told. With 
them the day of probation is over. The dawn 
brings to them no waking. There is for them 
no longer the morning recognition, the cheerful 
greeting, the hearty benediction of family and 
friends. Their eyes will not open again upon 
any earthly sun. They sleep their last sleep, 
and no light will visit them until the dawn- 
ing of the final day. 

But even these exceptions should bring to 
those who have been spared from sickness, crime, 



VALUE OF A DAY. 



125 



and death, new motives of thankfulness. Have 
we been excused from these trials, have health 
and peace rested upon us, during the helpless- 
ness of repose ? Have we not been tempted to 
"murder sleep" by deeds of sin and crime? 
Are the hours of our probation yet lengthened 
out ? Then let us turn to God in new emotions 
of thankfulness for the new blessings of every 
opening day, since it is His goodness and His 
grace alone that have been sufficient for us. 

Again, every opening morning brings to us in- 
valuable opportunities of being and doing good. 
Each brings with it rich means of instruction, 
in the aspects of nature and providence ; in the 
scenes we are called to pass through : in the du- 
ties we are obliged to perform : in the relations 
we are made to sustain ; in all the circumstances 
in which we are called to think, feel, and act. 
Each introduces occasions of self-discipline and 
self-conquest, which cannot with impunity be 
neglected. Each introduces a season in which 
our words are to be watched, our tempers regu- 
lated, our feelings trained, our passions con- 
trolled. Each may bring on a day, too, when 
some decisive step is to be taken, — when some 
irrevocable word is to be spoken, some irreversi- 
ble deed done, — when one of those crises in life 
may present itself which will deeply influence 



126 



VALUE OF A DAY. 



our whole existence here and hereafter. At any 
rate, each morning introduces a season of trial, — 
moral and religious trial, — which, as it is well 
or ill sustained, affects, for good or ill, our future 
condition. Each morning, too, renews our in- 
tercourse with those with whom we are inti- 
mately connected. What we shall do or leave 
undone, each day, will materially influence their 
improvement and happiness. The words we 
shall speak, the bearing we shall assume, the ex- 
ample we shall exhibit, will leave traces behind 
them on the minds of others, whose tendencies 
will be right or wrong, and whose consequences 
will reach indefinitely forward. How impor- 
tant, then, is each coming day, when viewed in 
reference to the social responsibilities it casts up- 
on us as moral and accountable beings ! 

Our days, indeed, in the ordinary course of 
life, may seem to pursue an even tenor, — a reg- 
ular routine : but yet, if we watch minutely the 
lapse of any one of them, we shall find that it is 
peculiar in its precise moral bearings, and that it 
presents trials of character peculiar to itself. 
The mood of our minds varies, or peculiar trains 
of thought are suggested, or our spirits are sin- 
gularly affected, or certain propensities present 
themselves with especial force, or our old habits 
seem to return like familiar friends, or our long- 



VALUE OF A DAY. 



127 



loved but forcibly-exiled sins come and plead 
persuasively at the door of our hearts ; in a 
word, our moral nerve fails, and we feel, in some 
points, weak, vulnerable, and insecure. And so, 
too, in regard to external condition, our trials, 
day by day, are varied by a peculiar train of cir- 
cumstances ; certain individuals may have gain- 
ed a dangerous influence ; or the state of our 
material and physical frames may expose us to 
irritation, despondency, and gloom. And thus 
each day acquires a significancy in our moral 
history that gives it a peculiar character. And 
thus it may be, too, that, through the combined 
influence of these peculiar internal and external 
causes, we may be tempted to say words and do 
deeds which, on reflection, will make our hearts 
ache, and the memory of which we shall be glad 
to efface, even with tears of blood. 

Once more, — and only once, — for this vein 
of thought, as I proceed, spreads into a thousand 
ramifications, each rich in its own peculiar prod- 
uct. Each morning brings to us a portion of 
life which is loaded, not only with its own proper 
responsibilities, but with all the failures and sins 
of the past which are unrepented of and unre- 
formed. Such is the perilous nature of all evil, 
that it not only defeats and destroys all the real 
and true purposes of life in the acting, but en- 



128 



VALUE OF A DAY. 



tails on the future the hard duty of repentance. 
Unless, then, our former lives have been passed 
in purity, in the discharge of every known 
duty towards God, man, and ourselves, — unless 
all our yesterdays, as we look back upon them, 
shall greet us with a smile, — then our to-days 
and to-morrows, in the measure that God shall 
grant them, must be charged, not only with their 
own appropriate calls and claims, but with the 
additional and hard duty of repentance for the 
unused or misspent past, 

Such is a sketch of the uses and of the value 
of the morning hour, I proposed to myself to 
make a religious estimate of one of our ordinary 
days, considered in its varied parts ; but I have 
not proceeded beyond its opening hour. But it 
is evident that what is thus shown in reference 
to this period is, in like manner, true of every 
successive hour and moment of the livelong day. 
Each, as it comes, bears witness to the rich and 
unceasing goodness of our God. The continu- 
ance of health and strength, the vigor of our 
minds, the exercise of kind and devout affec- 
tions, worthy employment for our faculties, so- 
cial and domestic blessings, security of person, 
property, and life, means of worthily influencing 
others, the supply of our daily returning wants, 
innocent gratifications and pleasures, power of 



VALUE OF A DAY. 



129 



moral and religious improvement, good, and, if 
we will, constantly brightening hopes of heaven, 
and growing consciousness of God's gracious 
acceptance and favor, — these and countless oth- 
er blessings, to which the time would fail me 
even to allude, are crowded into each successive 
hour of each successive day of our lives, and 
endow each, as it passes, with an unspeakable 
value. 

Thus we should learn to do that difficult 
thing. — namely, to estimate a day. Swift or 
monotonous as may be its flight, insignificant as 
it may seem to us in reference to the whole of 
life, it is yet a period, as I have said, of priceless 
value. And if this is true of each, how impor- 
tant does the aggregate of all appear, which 
makes up the term of our existence here on the 
earth ! Is each hour of every ordinary day en- 
dowed with expressions of Divine goodness ? Is 
each fraught with invaluable opportunities of re- 
ligious improvement ? Is each a season of trial 
and temptation ? Is each an important portion 
of that space which is laid out between us and 
our graves ? Is each loaded, not only with its 
own responsibilities, but with the duties of peni- 
tence and reformation for offences past ? Then 
what estimate shall we make of the total sum of 
all ? Does it not present to us a most interest- 
9 



130 



VALUE OF A DAY. 



ing view of life ? Shall it not excite us, before 
it is too late, so to number these most precious 
days as to apply our hearts to wisdom ? Have we 
idled away any part of them ? Have we trifled 
away any part of them ? Have we sinned away 
any part of them ? May God have mercy upon 
us, and iielp us to redeem the past, and con- 
secrate the remaining days he may give us to 
his entire service. Yes, let us be profligate, if 
we will, in every thing else : let us waste the 
wealth we love so well in merely selfish indul- 
gences ; let us forego all its generous, kind, and 
truly luxurious uses, to hoard it up for the stran- 
ger who values us only for it : let us throw it in 
one mass, if we will, into the depths of the sea : 
let any and every other favoring accident of life 
be sacrificed to paltry or unwise purposes, but 
let us not commit the perilous sin of wasting a 
day or a moment, for they are the stuff that life 
is made of, and life is the seed-time of eternity. 

The great question, then, for each of us to de- 
termine is, What has been the result of God's 
discipline during the many days of our lives ? 
And let us so think of this now, that we may 
rejoice in it for ever. " For," says our Lord, 
" yet a little while the light is with you : walk, 
then, while ye have the light, lest darkness come 
upon you." 



SERMON IX. 

♦ 



PRESENCE OF THE INVISIBLE GOD IN HIS WORKS 
AND WAYS. 

AND THE LORD WENT BEFORE THEM BY DAY IN A PILLAR OF 
A CLOUD, TO LEAD THEM THE WAY ) AND BY NIGHT IN A 
PILLAR OF FIRE, TO GIVE THEM LIGHT} TO GO BY DAY AND 

night. — Exodus xiii. 21. 

These miraculous displays of a Divine guid- 
ance, which were granted to God's chosen people 
in the first eras of their history, were adapted to 
a very early and rude state of the human mind, 
and to particular emergencies, and have, of 
course, long ceased to be given. They have 
passed away with that infant condition of society 
to which they were necessary, and for which 
alone they were adapted. They have fulfilled 
their mission, in authenticating the reality of a 
heavenly guidance in human affairs, and an inti- 
mate intercourse w T ith the human mind. They 
have given a diviner stamp to certain vital truths, 
by which the world was to be regenerated from 



132 PRESENCE OF THE INVISIBLE GOD 

great mistakes, and prepared for a higher and 
more liberal culture, and hence are no longer 
witnessed. Under this later and freer dispensa- 
tion it is our lot to live. God now, so to speak, 
retires behind His works, beyond the ken of hu- 
man eyes, — no longer effects His great purposes 
by direct interposition, but is only now to be 
seen, by the insight of faith, in His revealed 
word, in His works, and in His ways. It is, in a 
particular manner, to the presence of Him who 
is invisible, in these two latter methods, that I 
shall now ask your attention. 

And first, in speaking of that heavenly pres- 
ence which the thoughtful and serious spirit 
should habitually perceive in the works of God 
and in the events of human life, an important 
question meets us at the very outset of the in- 
quiry. What reason have we to believe that 
God intends thus to manifest himself to us ? In 
answer, I would inquire, What reason is there for 
thinking that He intends any thing less, or any 
thing different ? When He fashioned the stu- 
pendous frame of the universe, and formed it into 
one harmonious whole, and exhibited throughout 
all its parts plain marks of gracious design and 
astonishing contrivance, and, at the same time, 
made these minds of ours to perceive, and, per- 
ceiving, to adore, these traces of beneficence and 



IN HIS WORKS AND WAYS. 



133 



wisdom, it seems to me no violent presumption 
to say, that this was the final end, or, at least, 
one of the great ends, which the Creator proposed 
to himself in forming the creation and his crea- 
ture man. It is a solution that meets the case, 
and this is enough. But passing this. Is there 
any other rational, any other conceivable pur- 
pose ? If there were no marks of beneficent de- 
sign in the works of creation, while yet man 
remained with his present perceptive powers and 
sentiments, these powers and sentiments would 
fail, certainly, of their highest and best use and 
development. They would create an aimless and 
an ever unsatisfied want. And if, on the other 
hand, these marks of beneficent design remained, 
and yet no being w r ere created with capacities to 
know and appreciate them, they would exist to 
no purpose, or to no purpose conceivable to us. 
But if, as we believe, this whole creation is laid 
open before us as a vast and varied volume, on 
every page and line of which the wisdom and 
love of God are written for our instruction, 
then we are led, by the deductions of unassisted 
reason, to the same delightful truth which is ex- 
pressly written in his revealed word, — namely, 
that "the heavens declare the glory of God, and 
the firmament showeth his handiwork. Day 
unto day uttereth speech, night unto night show- 



134 PRESENCE OF THE INVISIBLE GOD 

eth knowledge." And in like manner in regard 
to the events of life. These, taken in connec- 
tion with their consequences, are to be consid- 
ered as a means of manifesting the mind of God. 
and as tokens and expressions of his presence and 
will. Those events, it is true, which spring 
from an abuse of our free agency, are, indeed, 
only permitted, and not ordered, by God, and are 
to be ascribed to ourselves as their immediate 
cause, and are not to be considered as indications 
of God's presence. But it is to be remembered, 
that certain consequences are necessarily and in- 
evitably connected with these acts of our free 
agency, which are to be ascribed, and can only 
be ascribed, to God as their source, and are to be 
taken as emphatic declarations of his presence in 
human affairs. Thus, though man may properly 
be considered the author of his own actions, 
yet no man can disjoin these actions from their 
natural consequences. These consequences are 
wholly beyond his control. These are to be 
regarded as the authentic voice of God, and as 
declarative of his will. Thus, even in those 
events which seem to be most entirely under 
our own control, we perceive that we are brought 
by their consequences under the strict govern- 
ment of God, and these consequences of our con- 
duct are as plain proofs of the reality of his pres- 



IN HIS WORKS .AND TV AYS. 



135 



ence as if he had spoken to us out of the lightning 
and thunders of Mount Sinai, or had gone before 
us by pillars of a cloud and fire. 

As it respects those events of life which are 
wholly independent of any agency of ours, and 
which include all other events. — such, for ex- 
ample, as the sickness, absence, or death, or the 
unkindness or unworthiness, of those with w r hom 
we are conversant or closely connected, — they 
are more clearly and distinctly to be regarded as 
tokens of God's presence, since they are, as it 
respects us, to be referred, and can only be re- 
ferred, to that moral government of God under 
which we find ourselves placed. Thus we may 
perceive Him who is invisible looking upon us 
from above, from beneath, and from around us. 
Every things to the thoughtful and religious 
spirit, from the sun in the firmament to the mote 
that glitters in its beams, betokens the presence 
of God. He did not, we may be sure, set in 
their majestic order the starry hosts, — He did 
not send them on their glorious errands, each 
preserving, amidst apparent confusion, the exact- 
est regularity in its movements, — He did not 
spread over this lower world a prodigality of 
beauty, — He did not connect the whole together 
by nice adjustments and by contrivances of sur- 
passing skill, — He did not place before man this 



136 PRESENCE OF THE INVISIBLE GOD 

august display of beauty, beneficence, wisdom, 
and power, that his eye should remain dull and 
inapprehensive to the author of it all, as are the 
prone beasts of the field ; but that he should 
see in all, and note in all, and feel in all, and 
recognize in all, that the " hand which made 
them is divine." 

So, too, in regard to the events of life. Each 
has its purpose and end, undoubtedly, in carrying 
forward the designs of God in reference to the 
present condition of all his human family. But 
beside this, each has a higher end and a more 
important purpose ; — a purpose which has refer- 
ence, not merely to this world, but the world of 
eternity ; — a purpose, not merely in reference to 
the present welfare of the individual, but to his 
welfare when time shall be no longer. This is 
the only wise, the only philosophical, and, what 
is the very perfection of wisdom and philosophy, 
the only religious view of the events of life. 
Thus, and thus alone, can we send light into the 
dark paths of this present pilgrimage, solve the 
apparently hard problems of the Divine govern- 
ment, vindicate the ways of God to man, and 
shed beams of consolation and hope upon the 
sorrowing spirit. I proceed, in further illustra- 
tion of those great and sustaining truths, to offer 
some examples of this thoughtful, this religious 
interpretation of events. 



IN HIS WORKS AND WAYS. 



137 



The presence of Him who is invisible, in the 
first place, will be apparent in all those circum- 
stances by which happiness in this life is pro- 
moted or secured. I cannot stop to enumerate 
particulars here. Nor is it necessary. The devo- 
tional spirit will understand that I refer to all the 
grateful circumstances by which the pilgrimage 
of life is gladdened. Such a spirit will regard 
these circumstances, not in themselves alone, — 
not merely as events which fill up our individual 
history, — but as indications of kindness from 
on high, as tokens of Divine favor, in a word, as 
manifestations of Him who is invisible, which, 
while they speak of unearthly goodness, call us, 
in a language of unearthly force and impressive- 
ness, to the duty and the privilege of gratitude 
and praise. Thus, in tracing every enjoyment to 
the primal Source of all happiness, — thus, in re- 
alizing his close relation to that goodness whence 
all goodness proceeds, — he gives to every enjoy- 
ment a blessing not its own. Without this grate- 
ful reference of the gift to the bounteous Giver, 
he feels that his highest blessing would want its 
highest charm. With it, the smallest token of 
Divine beneficence has some relishes of heavenly 
blessedness, some antepasts of that Divine pres- 
ence, the nearer communion with which we hope 
for in a beatified state. 



138 PRESENCE OF THE INVISIBLE GOD 



Again, God is present with us still more strik- 
ingly in the adverse and painful events of life. 

Disappointments, in the widest sense of that 
broadly-spreading word, failures in cherished 
plans, the faded visions of youth, separation and 
absence of those we love, labors for naught, the 
chills and blights of the kind affections, — these, 
all these, with their kindred and associated ills, 
felt and feared, are to be regarded as indications 
of God's immediate presence. Like the events 
of life above referred to, they are not to be re- 
garded in themselves alone, not merely as parts 
and stages of our individual lives, but as instruc- 
tions from on high filled with a solemn and im- 
pressive meaning, — a meaning which, as Chris- 
tians, we should thoughtfully interpret and ear- 
nestly apply to our religious improvement. They 
tell us, in a language more impressive than can 
be breathed into words, of the unsatisfactoriness 
and the insecurity of human enjoyment, of the 
uncertainty of those human plans and endeav- 
ours which have reference to this life alone, and 
call us to look for our permanent happiness, and 
to direct all our earnest efforts, to a world where 
blighted hope and disappointed effort are un- 
known, and where God's nearer presence shall 
leave no wish unanswered. 

Again, infirmities of our fearfully and wonder- 



IN HIS WORKS AND WAYS. 



139 



fully made bodies, sickness, and decay of strength, 
in all their various forms, are to be regarded by 
the Christian as visitations of Him who is in- 
visible. These infirmities and diseases are not 
merely the appointed process by which these 
spirits of ours are to be handed over to the dread 
unknown of death, but they are the appointed 
discipline by which these spirits are to be tried, 
purified, perfected, and fitted for a happy immor- 
tality with God. How rich and impressive is 
their instruction in this point of view ! They 
lead us directly to the unseen and the eternal. 
They inculcate lessons which health could never 
give. They speak to us, and that, too, in a lan- 
guage which it is not easy to disregard, of the 
precariousness of that primal earthly blessing, 
health ; of the necessity of seeking enjoyments 
which are independent of these easily-deranged 
and dying frames ; of the importance and pre- 
ciousness of the virtues of meek endurance and 
patient suffering ; of the utter incapacity of any 
merely worldly objects to meet any of the inti- 
mate wants of the stricken body and aching 
spirit ; of the need of that aid of others who in 
health may have been looked upon as an inferior 
class of beings ; — in a word, sickness, in all its 
sad vicissitudes, tends to place us, as it were, 
within the veil where the Divine presence is 



140 PRESENCE OF THE INVISIBLE GOD 

more fully manifested; and to remind us of 
heaven, and of the need of reliances which are 
to be sought and found only there. 

And, once more, there remains to be men- 
tioned another manifestation of the presence of 
the invisible God, and it is the most affecting, 
the most soul-subduing, of all. It is death ; for 
death is but the angel of God, sent to call his 
children home. 

Death, indeed, considered in itself, and in a 
merely philosophical view, is only the last of 
those events by which the little circle of life is 
rounded, and by which room is made for the 
successive races of men to take their places and 
perform, in this present stage of being, their re- 
spective parts. But, in the Christian's view, it 
is appointed for higher objects, — it is fraught 
with a diviner import. It is a message from 
heaven, forcing upon survivors that great lesson, 
which they are so ready to admit and so ready 
to forget, — that trite and yet constantly avoided 
lesson, — that they, too, must die. It speaks in 
a language as from the grave, — a language 
which will and must be heard, — in a language 
which will and must, if any thing can, penetrate 
and fill, and sadden and solemnize even the most 
thoughtless soul, — of the strong, the inevitable, 
the invincible necessity of being prepared to die. 



IN HIS WORKS AND WAYS. 



141 



It makes us feel, as nothing else does or can, our 
need of that Almighty Hand which alone can 
conduct us safely through the dark valley. It 
makes us realize, as we never can otherwise real- 
ize, the value of Christian faith, Christian hope. 
Christian reliance, Christian reconciliation of the 
soul to God, a Christian resignation to His sov- 
ereign will, and a Christian and childlike surren- 
der of ourselves to His fatherly love. These 
admonitions are still more afFectingly brought 
home to our hearts when death comes and calls 
his victims from our own circle, and within 
which our best earthly hopes and affections are 
enshrined. When we see the considerate, the 
thoughtful, the firm, the gentle, the kind of 
heart, taken from us, — those who were emi- 
nently gifted to exercise, through the ministry 
of a Christian life and love, a gracious influence 
over other minds, — those who seemed to be, 
while with us, too single-hearted and good and 
pious to be of us, — we feel emphatically the 
nearer presence of the invisible God, — we feel 
that he is giving us a new and most attractive 
example of the truth, how infinitely goodness, 
Christian worthiness, transcends every thing else 
here below, how wholly independent it is of any 
and all the coveted distinctions of social life ; and 
we cannot resist the conclusion, that God has sent 



142 PRESENCE OF THE INVISIBLE GOD 

such to be with us for a little while, for our in- 
struction and guidance, and that he has taken 
them from us in his own good time, to teach us 
that this cannot be the end of being, but that 
there is a brighter and happier scene where such 
shall go, where, freed from the cares and trials 
of life, and all the downward tendencies and 
distractions of these earthly frames, they shall 
henceforth live on for ever, accepted, happy, glo- 
rified beings, in the nearer and more conscious 
presence of the now invisible God. 

Thus it is, my friends, that we are led to see 
Him who is invisible in every thing that exists. 
He is revealed to the soul that is imbued with 
the full spirit of our religion, with every ray of 
light, with every breath of air, with every beat- 
ing of the pulse, in all the aspects of nature, in 
all the events of life. Alas that such revela- 
tions fall so often on closed or averted eyes ! 
Alas that beings confessing themselves to be 
rational and immortal, yet knowing their dura- 
tion upon earth is but for a day, should permit 
themselves to be so engrossed with present cares, 
with the business or frivolities of life, as to be 
blind to the manifestations of the Divine pres- 
ence, which are thus inviting them, and warning 
them, and beseeching them, and urging them 
to seek their highest and only permanent well- 



IN HIS "WORKS .AND WAYS. 



143 



being in a future world ! If all were like these, 
children of the " earth, earthy," if all bosoms, 
like theirs, were impassive to the instructions 
and invitations and warnings which are every- 
where around them, then, amidst the deadness 
and thanklessness of human hearts, we might 
expect that the very u stones would cry out." 
My friends, is life, or is it not, a state of trial and 
probation ? Is it, or is it not, a part of this pro- 
bation, that we are made to receive instruction 
and warning from the works of God and the 
events of Providence ? Is, or is not, this scheme 
of things to be ascribed to God as its author ? 
If it be, what is the religious state, what are the 
religious prospects, of that person who lives on, 
day after day, all life long, in an habitual, care- 
less, hardened indifference and insensibility to 
these palpable, striking, affecting, mournful man- 
ifestations of Him who is invisible ? Let us 
think seriously of this, my friends, and think 
now, while the hours of probation are speeding 
on their rapid way. And then turn from this 
sad spectacle, and place in contrast with it the 
condition of him who has trained himself to see 
in all things the manifestations of the invisible 
God. No description will suffice. Words are 
shadows here. To him the whole creation is a 
temple of thanksgiving and praise ; life, one con- 



144 PRESENCE OF THE INVISIBLE GOD, 

tinued offering of holy love and elevating hom- 
age ; and every event, though seen and tempo- 
ral, is yet clothed in the diviner significance of 
things unseen and eternal. Yes, 

" All nature is to him 
Instinct with God ; he deems its every sound 
An echo of the everlasting hymn, 
Its light a gleam of that which never shall be dim." 



SERMON X. 



PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT. 
faint, yet pursuing. — Judges viii. 4. 

It will be well for us, if, under the discourag- 
ing events of life, we are found, like the hosts 
of Gideon, spoken of in the text, after their con- 
flict with the Midianites, " faint, yet pursuing.'' 

They were wearied with success, exhausted 
by the labors of a triumph, " faint " in a victori- 
ous pursuit. Not such are the efforts that weary 
us, exhaust our strength, and make us " faint " 
in the way ; but they are those of defeat in our 
cherished plans, discomfiture in our conflicts with 
adverse circumstances, unavailing resistance to 
suffering in countless forms. These are the ef- 
forts that make us c< faint," these are the toils 
that exhaust our spirits, these are drains, not 
upon our physical resources merely, but for 

10 



146 PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT. 



those fountains of sentiment and feeling that are 
deeply set in the soul. 

But while we thus want, in our trials, those 
encouragements of success that nerved the faint- 
ing strength of the followers of Gideon, we are 
yet, like them, to go on in our harder path, 
though " faint, yet pursuing." And what shall 
sustain us in our perseverance in duty under 
these discouraging circumstances ? 

It is the object of this discourse to suggest 
some thoughts in answer to this inquiry. 

First, we should, though "faint," be "yet 
pursuing " the path of duty, because it is a path 
appointed by One who knows best what is best 
for us. We cannot doubt this if we are Chris- 
tians, and believe in the Christian doctrine of 
the constant care and ever-present, all-embracing 
providence of God. And if this be so, — if, of 
all the lines of life that all the myriads of hu- 
man creatures pursue, that, precisely that, and 
only that, is allotted to each of us which Infinite 
Wisdom sees to be best for us and Infinite Be- 
nevolence stands ever ready to bless, — what 
more or different can we desire ? Though the 
path be dark and gloomy, though it be beset 
with dangers, though it be one of toil, of trial, 
and distress, though it be one in which, if it 
were permitted, it were much more easy to die 



PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT. 147 

than to live, yet, if we see the finger of God 
pointing to it, the light of his approval resting 
upon it, and know that it terminates at last in a 
home of rest and joy, shall we not take it, in 
perfect trust and resignation, and go on to its 
final issue, though " faint," yet ever " pursuing " ? 

This is the great thought that should animate 
our perseverance in circumstances of discourage- 
ment. And if there were not much of heathen- 
ism in our thoughts, and sad faithlessness in our 
hearts, on this subject, it would. 

Again, though "faint," we should yet be ever 
"pursuing," since it is thus, and only thus, that 
our moral resources are brought to light, our 
moral nerve tried, and character — that character 
which alone fits for heaven, and is heaven — is 
to be formed. Difficulty is the school, and the 
only school, of virtue and holiness. Disaster is 
the true and only effective discipline of the soul. 
It is by the sad ministry of distress alone that 
the whole weakness and the whole strength 
within us are brought out. The soft soil, the 
balmy zephyr, and the gentle sunlight may 
clothe in beauty the "lily of the field," but it 
requires the rock-bound earth, the stormy wind, 
and the rough handling of the wintry blast, to 
mature the strength of the gnarled oak of the 
forest. It is a universal law, that time, labor, 



148 PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT. 

conflict, must go to the production of every thing 
that is of real and permanent value. We make 
a sad mistake when we sigh for ease, freedom 
from toil, and for the appliances of what is called 
a prosperous fortune ; for then we sigh for ener- 
vating influences, for almost resistless allure- 
ments to selfishness, to inconsiderateness of the 
claims of others, to luxurious indulgences, to 
unreal wants, to helplessness, and to effeminacy. 
Shall we not, then, be encouraged to persevere 
through a discipline which, in the providence of 
God, is the only means of obtaining the highest 
good that He vouchsafes to mortals, — truth, re- 
ality, strength, moral and religious elevation of 
character, — that character which " itself a king- 
dom is, 7 ' and is the earnest of a place hereafter 
in the kingdom of heaven ? Shall we not man- 
fully, cheerfully, religiously, accept the lot that 
is ordered for us in a wisdom that is higher than 
ours, and ever be found, even in its gloomiest 
paths, though il faint, yet pursuing" ? 

Another reason why we should go on in the 
path appointed to us is, that this path, however 
weary, is, at the longest, short ; the toil, though 
heavy, is soon over. A near horizon bounds the 
range of mortal life, and, unlike that which 
meets the eye of the wayfarer here below, it 
does not advance as we pursue, but is a fixed 



PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT. 149 



limit which awaits our approach, and is to us 
the dividing line between time and eternity. 
Shall we, then, " faint " in a course which be- 
comes shorter with every advancing step, with 
every beat of the pulse, and whose ultimate ter- 
mination is , at the farthest, so nigh ? 

And this leads to another sustaining thought. 
This path, though narrowing at every instant, 
and, at the longest, very short, leads to a sure 
and permanent happiness, to a peace that nothing 
can interrupt, to a rest where nothing that dis- 
turbeth can ever enter, to those blessed mansions 
which our Saviour has gone to prepare for those 
who toil on, "faint, yet pursuing,"' in his service 
here. 

Again, we may derive encouragement to go 
on, though 11 faint, yet pursuing, from those 
examples of perseverance under discouraging 
circumstances which God, in his providence, is 
continually offering to our view. Authentic in- 
stances of this are, doubtless, to be found among 
the heroes and martyrs of popular renown ; and 
those who need the adventitious glare of place 
and fame to arrest their gaze may find them 
there. But there are heroes and martyrs all 
around us, even in the humblest walks of life, 
who are no less worthy of our admiring emula- 
tion, and whose example, as being nearer and 



150 PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT. 



more intimately known to us. and better adapted 
to our condition, is fraught with a stronger, more 
personal, and tenderer interest. Indeed, it is 
these retiring and unambitious developments of 
what is highest and noblest in the human soul, 
both in doing and in suffering, that vindicate its 
divine origin, and serve to keep us in love and 
reverence for our kind, in the midst of its crying 
follies and sins. 

Thus, to select one from the many inspiring 
examples of this persevering contest with diffi- 
culties, take the by no means uncommon case of 
a young man just starting into Life, whose spirit 
God has touched with a noble emulation of 
achieving for himself an eligible place and name 
in society, but whose patrimony is nothing but 
poverty, a lowly lot. unsympathizing associates, 
and a crushing environment of outward circum- 
stances. He duly appreciates the whole hardness 
of his lot ; but still he feels, even in the midst 
of a desolating sense of his present helplessness, 
that he has not yet found his fitting place in 
the world. A burning aspiration for something 
higher and better continually urges him upward 
and onward. His aims soon become more def- 
initely fixed, he goes forward to their accom- 
plishment with unfaltering step : he finds or 
makes his way as he advances : he wrestles with 



PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT. 151 

every difficulty, until he extorts from it a bless- 
ing ; that dark cloud of adversity which shut 
down close around him, and chilled all his ear- 
ly hopes, he finds is gradually lifted as he pro- 
ceeds ; happier prospects begin to greet his strain- 
ing eye ; a meek self-confidence is awakened by 
every new success : " faint, yet pursuing," he still 
urges on his arduous way, until at last his early 
hope, his trembling hope, his fainting hope, is 
crowned with a well-earned success. And is 
there not inspiration to perseverance, under all 
the adverse aspects of life, in an example like 
this? 

The instances which the history of letters af- 
fords of the pursuit of knowledge under disheart- 
ening difficulties teach us the same animating 
lesson. I cannot stop to point out particular ex- 
amples ; but they are very numerous. Nay, take 
from science, take from literature, take from the 
fine and from the useful arts, the names of those 
who have gone on, " faint, yet pursuing," through 
apparently insuperable difficulties, to those high 
achievements which have made the world their 
willing debtors, and the record would become all 
but a blank. 

Again, there are trials which can be known 
but to one's own consciousness, which illustrate 
still more strongly the beauty and the blessed- 



152 PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT. 



ness of those who go on, " faint, yet pursuing/ 4 ' 
in the path of difficult duty, There are our se- 
cret conflicts with our own tempted natures ; our 
struggles against the peculiar weakness of our 
infirm spirits ; our resistance to the sin which 
most easily besets us ; our principled, yet forced, 
flight from dangerous opportunities ; our unwill- 
ing breaking from seductive entanglements ; our 
resolute withholding from the first steps in a 
downward path ; our enforced caution against 
the evil tendency of acts not evil in themselves ; 
and then, again, the earnest efforts for positive 
advances in Christian holiness, earnest medita- 
tion, constant reference to God, instant prayer, 
active charity, sound words, good deeds, personal 
efforts for the welfare of others, and an ever- 
growing meetness for God's approval, — all this 
is often done, and often only to be done, amidst 
decays of spiritual strength, in despondency and 
fear, and yet we see the heaven-directed spirit 
still go on in its upward way, though " faint, yet 
pursuing," and it is a spectacle that may well 
excite a kindred spirit of emulation in our own 
weak, wayward, and faltering spirits. 

We see, again, the true followers of Jesus, 
though "faint, yet pursuing" the prize of their 
high calling amidst the crippling attacks of sick- 
ness and in the near and visible approaches of 



PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT. 153 



death. Their bodily strength is gone, indeed, 
and they may no longer pursue their way in the 
broad sunlight and in the open air, but their 
spirits are bathed in a bright effulgence, and 
breathe a purer air than belongs to earth and 
time ; and though "faint " amid earthly decays, 
are still ever found " pursuing " their direct path 
to that rest which remaineth to the people of God. 
And an example like this is full of encouragement 
when we are ready to "faint " in our easier path. 

I was about, in like manner, to follow the 
spirit which is " faint," but still found ever 
" pursuing " its appointed path, into its con- 
flicts with speculative doubts, with its half-faith, 
its dark and questioning states, its conscious in- 
firmity of belief I thought, too, of tracing it in 
its " faint," yet still " pursuing " course, into the 
forlorn and desolate paths of bereavement. But 
these topics were at once crowded out of view 
by the intelligence of the death of a friend and 
brother in the Gospel, by whose whole life the 
leading doctrine of this discourse was eminently 
illustrated. Nearly the whole professional career 
of Henry Ware, Junior, was one of infirmity and 
sickness. But though "faint," he was ever 
found earnestly "pursuing" the onward and 
upward path which his Master trod before. I 
cannot, in the close of a discourse, offer any 



154 PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT. 



thing approaching to a just idea of the character 
of this distinguished and devoted servant of God 
and Jesus. Perhaps I may best give a glimpse 
of it to you, my friends, by adverting to the 
striking coincidence it bears with that of his 
friend, your yet loved pastor, my immediate 
predecessor here, and whose biography he wrote. 
Those who best knew both will at once per- 
ceive, in reading this just and beautiful tribute, 
that its author's delineations were warmed into a 
lifelike truthfulness by his sympathies with their 
object : and that, in describing the character of 
the sainted Abbot, he is depicting many of the 
leading traits of his own. The same singleness 
of aim : the same devoutness of spirit ; the same 
absorbing devotion to that Master whose name 
they had named ; the same high estimate of their 
sacred office ; the same diligence and fidelity in 
their appropriate duties : the same modesty, mild- 
ness, and gentleness of manner, united with all- 
pervading, all-animating earnestness of purpose ; 
the same preference of the religious character 
before merely professional gifts and acquire- 
ments ; the same reverential culture of the heart, 
as the source of the truest inspiration ; the same 
study of their own hearts, as indices of the hearts 
of others ; the same tenderness of conscience, 
united with the highest possible standard of 



PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT. 155 



duty, that enabled them to address and move the 
consciences of others ; the same practical aims in 
the best of causes, and the same perseverance in 
carrying them into effect ; the same independence 
in the formation of their own opinion, united 
with the same catholic spirit in according a like 
privilege to others ; the same skill and diligence 
in finding and in making opportunities of re- 
ligious improvement : the same appreciation of 
practical goodness, as the highest human great- 
ness, and the same desire of being useful to oth- 
ers, as the highest earthly distinction ; the same 
absence of all selfish ambition and undue refer- 
ence to the opinions of others, which always en- 
tail upon the mind that yields to them a cease- 
less, barren, and crippling misery ; — all these 
traits of character were common to both. The 
same integrity, sincerity, simplicity, and conse- 
crate repose of manner characterized their private 
walk ; and a similar placid zeal, chastened fervor, 
simple earnestness, and subdued yet subduing 
pathos marked their public ministrations. In a 
word, both endeavoured to form themselves on 
the example of their Lord. To them both may 
be applied, far beyond the common lot even of 
good and holy men, the comprehensive eulogy 
which, in the biography here alluded to, is ap- 
plied to Abbot, — they were "men of the beati- 
tudes." 



156 PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT. 

The mind of our friend just deceased was 
richly, and in some respects peculiarly, endowed. 
It was singularly energetic, yet habitually calm. 
It was uncommonly fruitful in resources, yet 
skilled in selecting the best and the most availa- 
ble for any given object. It was pervaded by 
an earnest zeal, yet guided by a far-seeing wis- 
dom. It was decided and strong in its own con- 
victions, yet ever open to further light. It was 
at once discursive and imaginative. It was log- 
ical, clear, and discriminating, yet constantly 
teeming with poetical illustrations. He not only 
saw those well-defined limits by which any topic 
of thought was legitimately bounded, and its 
essential connection with affiliated trains of 
thought, but he looked upon it with the gifted 
fancy of one who could trace out and portray 
those looser but more suggestive analogies which 
minister to a poetic taste. He thus achieved the 
singular distinction of being at once one of the 
most sound, discriminating, and effective theolo- 
gians of the day, and at the same time one of the 
most serious, thoughtful, devout, and elevated of 
our poets. 

But I am yielding too far to the attractiveness 
of my theme, and I leave it with a single parting 
remark. How great has been our loss, as a de- 
nomination of Christians, in the little circle of a 



PERSEVERANCE UNDER DISCOURAGEMENT. 157 

year ! Not to refer to others who were loved 
and honored in their appropriate sphere, we have 
to mourn the departure of Channing, Greenwood, 
and Ware. We know not where to look for 
their equals in their peculiar paths of excellence : 
and it is a large renown, it is an unequalled dis- 
tinction, to have possessed at one time three such 
men. Shall we not feel that an increased effort 
in the great work of self-improvement is imposed 
upon us by the extinction of such burning and 
shining lights as these ? But, thanks be to God, 
they are not wholly gone from us. Their minds, 
their hearts, their spirits, still live, still speak to 
us from their recorded words. These are imper- 
ishable. They have gone forth, and will con- 
tinue to go forth, on a blessed mission to myriads 
of earnest inquirers after the truth as it is in 
Jesus. And as it has been our privilege to hear 
these words from their living lips, and to have 
seen them illustrated by their pure and holy 
lives, let us show our gratitude to God for this 
great boon by treasuring up their counsels for 
our guidance, and ever walking, though " faint, 
yet pursuing," in the effulgence of their holy 
paths. 



SERMON XI. 

# 



WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS? 

WOE UNTO THEE, CHORAZIN ! WOE UNTO THEE, BETHSAID A ! 
FOR IF THE MIGHTY WORKS WHICH WERE DONE IN YOU 
HAD BEEN DONE IN TYRE AND SIDON, THEY WOULD HAVE 
REPENTED LONG AGO IN SACKCLOTH AND ASHES. BUT I 
SAY UNTO YOU, IT SHALL BE MORE TOLERABLE FOR TYRE 
AND SIDON AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT THAN FOR YOU. — 

Matt. xi. 21, 22. 

The cities of Chorazin and Bethsaida are thus 
denounced by Jesus, for a neglect of their pecu- 
liar religious privileges. He here, as was his 
custom, illustrated a general principle by a par- 
ticular case. The principle is one obviously just 
in itself, and one that pervades his whole instruc- 
tions. It is simply this. Our religious respon- 
sibilities increase in precise proportion to our 
religious advantages. Life, in his view, is en- 
tirely probationary, and " unto whom, therefore, 
much is given, of him shall much be required. 55 
And contrasting, as he frequently did, the higher 



WHAT DO YE 310RE THAN OTHERS ? 159 

spiritual culture of his religion with that of the 
Mosaic dispensation^ the startling question which 
he puts to his followers is, " What do ye more 
than others ? " 

The question has lost nothing of its signifi- 
cance or pertinency by the lapse of time or 
change of circumstances, since it was originally 
urged, and it should fall upon all our ears now 
as if we had first caught the words as they fell 
from the living lips of Jesus. 

Let, then, the inquiry, What do ye more 
than others? which embraces the moral of the 
text, be urged and met, in the true and affection- 
ate spirit of Christian fidelity, here and now. 

First, then, it is obvious, that, in point of 
Christian privileges, we are far in advance of the 
inhabitants of those ancient cities to which our 
Lord refers. We have not been called upon, as 
they were, to outlearn and outgrow a national 
faith, w r hich had been inwoven into the fibres of 
our hearts by the tender and hallowed asso- 
ciations of early years, that we may name the 
name of Jesus. We have not needed, as they 
did, to forsake houses, and home, and kindred, 
and all that the soul holds dear in our domestic 
relations, that we may be numbered amongst his 
followers. We are not obliged, as they were of 
old, to bind our brows with the thorny crown of 



160 



WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS ? 



martyrdom, as the condition of his discipleship. 
The cross he bore, and on which he bled, now 
floats, an emblem of triumph as of love, over the 
nations ; and the once despised Nazarene, the 
insulted prisoner in Pilate's hall, now reigns in 
unquestioned supremacy, as the King of Saints. 
The whole current of thought, the whole ten- 
dency of feeling, the general mind of the civil- 
ized world, have all been baptized into the re- 
ligion of Jesus. We, each of us, as individuals, 
have richly partaken of the blessed change. We 
have breathed a Christian atmosphere with our 
first breath in life ; and Christian privileges have 
been as free to us as the common sunlight and 
the vital air, from infancy to the present hour. 
Peculiar means of religious improvement have 
not been spared. The unearthly voices of God's 
solemn providence have been speaking to us on 
the right hand and on the left. Our early friends 
may have been taken from our side. Sickness, 
and disappointment, and all the dark ministers of 
sorrow have read to us their solemn lessons. We 
know, too, whether we know the reason of it or 
not, that there has been a void in our hearts that 
nothing here below has been able to fill ; that 
we have experienced wants of the soul which 
have never been answered : that we have suffered 
a disquiet of the spirit which has never been 



WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS ? 161 

soothed ; that we have often writhed under a 
sense of guilt that has alienated us in wretched- 
ness from God, and have felt aspirations after a 
good which has never been attained. And we 
may have been privileged beyond these common 
calls to a holy life. We may have had parents 
or friends enabled and disposed to forward our 
religious culture. We may have the memory, 
more or less distinct, of the prayers and tears of 
a mother in our behalf, — whose voice, perhaps, 
has long been stilled in the silence of the grave. 
We may have enjoyed the unspeakable privilege 
of a religious home ; we may have felt, at times, 
the solemn urgency of the calls of Christianity ; 
we may have yielded, at transient periods, our 
souls to her influence, and have felt transient 
foretastes of that peace which the world can nei- 
ther give nor take away. In these and countless 
other respects, we have all been privileged even 
beyond those who sat at the feet of Jesus ; and 
in these, and in countless other respects, too, 
may have been privileged beyond myriads of our 
fellow-men at the present day. And then comes 
the searching question, " What " — in return for 
these great, these precious, these peculiar privi- 
leges — " do we more than others ? V Where is 
the fitting return for these distinctive advan- 
tages ? To what part of character shall we 
11 



162 WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS ? 

pointj as the result of this more favored con- 
dition ? In one word, what have we done, what 
do we, more than others ? 

There are very few, I suppose, who would not 
find it difficult to answer this question satisfac- 
torily to themselves, and it is obvious that it ap- 
plies with singular emphasis to those who lend 
only a negligent or careless ear to the calls of the 
Gospel. But it seems to be an inquiry which is 
peculiarly applicable to a certain condition of 
character, which, in the present state of the relig- 
ious community, is by no means rare, — which, 
perhaps, may be considered as the prevalent one, 
in the present state of the religious community 
in which we dwell. This, in the hope of giving 
a practical and really useful turn to these re- 
marks, I shall attempt to delineate, and then at- 
tempt to ascertain its real value. The precise 
condition of character which I have in view is 
of such a negative kind, that it is extremely diffi- 
cult to be described. Perhaps an approach may 
be made to it by an imperfect sketch like the 
following. 

In all communities which have arrived at a 
certain stage of religious cultivation, we may 
find many individuals possessed of kind dispo- 
sitions, many attractive qualities ; of good, or at 
least not bad, external conduct ; free from all 



WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS ? 1 63 

publicly branded vices ; respectable and respected 
in the common intercourse of life ; of well-set 
habits, in regard to the grosser self-indulgences ; 
affectionate in all the domestic relations ; not 
without latent capacities for religion/ and not 
habitually neglectful of its public institutions, 
though viewing them, on the whole, rather as 
matters of convenience, custom, or taste, than as 
appointed or important methods of rescuing the 
soul from sin, and helping it upwards to God ; 
in a word, exhibiting a course of life not unamia- 
ble, not immoral, not in any respect strikingly 
exceptionable, yet, in a religious point of view, 
undecided, neutral, mixed, imperfect, — in a 
word, utterly defective and all but worthless. 
Approaches more or less near to this imaginary 
portrait are, in point of fact, exhibited on every 
side. Now, though there may be much to re- 
spect in such cases, and not a little to love, and 
though it may be extremely painful to probe into 
the real stamina of the character of such persons, 
when the surface is so smooth and glassy, — yet 
it is obvious that they expose themselves to the 
searching question, " What do ye more than 
others? " Is there any thing distinctive in their 
aims and motives as religious beings? Might 
they not have grown up to the same religious 
stature under Jewish or heathen institutions, if 



164 



WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS ? 



these had been accompanied by the genial light 
of modern civilization ? Would not even a wise 
selfishness have led them to the same issue ? Is 
there any thing in them that a regard for human 
estimation, in a cultivated state of society, might 
not have produced ? Would not the natural re- 
straints and decencies of a tolerably well informed 
and not grossly immoral community have led to 
the same result ? If so, how does their condition 
differ from those of Chorazin and Bethsaida ? 
The Gospel of Jesus Christ, if it have any claims, 
has high and distinctive ones. How are these 
acknowledged in the state of character here re- 
ferred to ? Where are the traces of the Saviour's 
mission, the Saviour's teachings, the Saviour's 
sacrifice, the Saviour's holy Gospel in all its 
ministrations, warnings, and counsels, hopes and 
fears ? — where, except in some indirect and 
practical influences ? And as for striving to ex- 
cel, which is the implied instruction of this sol- 
emn text ; instead of aiming at excellence in the 
Christian calling ; instead of exceedingly pressing 
forward, as Paul did, in the Christian race, — and 
he who does not thus press forward ever lags 
behind ; instead of resting unsatisfied with any 
religious attainment while any thing remains to 
be done ; instead of regarding the progress of the 
soul as having a starting-point, indeed, here on 



WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS ? 165 

earth, but absolutely no goal either on earth or 
in heaven ; instead of striving, as the Lord en- 
joins, to be perfect — how ? and how far ? — 
even as God is perfect, — all this obviously is 
unthought of. or entertained but for a moment. 
The question, then, What do ye more than oth- 
ers ? is, alas! fully answered. 

And now, for the purpose of ascertaining a lit- 
tle more closely the true place which the state of 
character supposed should take in a Christian's 
estimate, I proceed to point out some of its de- 
fects. 

First, then, it wants strength, — that strength 
which can alone be imparted by religious princi- 
ple. What religion there is, if any, is only sur- 
face deep. It is not rooted in the soul. It is 
not wrought in among the heart-strings of the 
man. He is not swayed by that supreme relig- 
ious preference before which all other preferences 
come and bow down in entire obedience. It is a 
state of character that may answer well enough 
for the common routine of life. It may answer 
well enough for the exchange, the workshop, 
or the drawing-room. It may suffice for the or- 
dinary transactions of business, or for the social 
intercourse of men. In the tranquil flow of 
events, its deficiencies may not be evident, and 
this is one great reason that many persons, mean- 



166 



WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS ? 



ing, on the whole, to be Christians, or, at least, 
not meaning to be otherwise, tolerate it as they 
do, and are satisfied with it as they are. But, in 
the varied perplexities of our earthly course, it 
has no sure star for our guidance, — in our stern 
trials, it has no support, — in our tempted hour, 
it has no refuge for us. It has no deeply fixed, 
clearly ascertained, decisive religious principles, 
on which the soul may lean and gather up its 
resources in overwhelming sorrow. It can do 
and it can be nothing that requires energy, 
nerve, and the unconquerable will. I say, there- 
fore, it has no real strength, and if you w T ill look 
abroad into society and select for the experiment 
any single example of this imperfect religious 
state, you will see this is the fact. You will 
find religious motives to prevail up to a certain 
point, and then — fail. You will find that these 
motives are rather laid on than wrought into the 
soul : that the religious character, so called, is 
rather patched up by decent external appearances, 
than one which has grown, as the trees do, from 
a living principle within. Hence, though per- 
sons of this description may spread an external 
decorum over their conduct, or even exhibit the 
appearance of devoutness and respect for relig- 
ion, yet, when any difficult question of duty 
comes up, they will be found balancing between 



"WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS ? 



167 



what in their souls they know to be right and 
what is supposed to be expedient, — between 
what the five, or fifty, or five hundred people 
around them, which they call the world, may 
sanction, and what they confess to be their au- 
thentic duties to God. And, as respects their 
weak and assailable points of character, you will 
find them, in the perilous hour of trial, loitering, 
with a half-open ear, though perhaps with face 
averted, to the cunning suggestions of the tempt- 
er, — their hearts gently responding, though their 
voices be mute, — their good resolutions held in 
words, while their substance is gently melting 
away, -— their religious principles dubious, fee- 
ble, and worthless ; and in almost any given 
case, you have only to increase the motive to 
violate them, or adroitly change the mode of 
attack, and then their flimsiness becomes deplo- 
rably obvious. 

Again, the imperfect state of the religious 
condition fails in securing to the individual re- 
ligious peace. This is the great want of the 
soul. Many, and, I doubt not, some who hear 
me, experience this crying want without know- 
ing distinctly what it is that causes them their 
disquiet. They feel this strong need of repose 
in their close retirements. There is a loud call 
from unfathomed depths of their bosoms, that re- 



168 



WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS? 



mains yet unanswered. There is a deep void 
there, not yet filled. There is a thirsting of the 
spirit after the pure waters of life, that cannot be 
slaked at the cisterns and reservoirs of the high- 
ways. Hence they feel restless and dissatisfied, 

— it may be that they become querulous and re- 
pining. If they happen to have enjoyed the op- 
portunities of education, in the extremely imper- 
fect but prevailing sense of the term, and especial- 
ly if they be exposed to the curse of unbought 
leisure, and oppressed with the heavy load of 
having nothing on earth to do, they will seek, 
perchance, for relief from restlessness in high- 
wrought pictures of ideal life, in poetry and prose. 
But alas ! the poet's sweetest song has no prevail- 
ing charm for the heart ill at ease with its God, 
the most exciting stories soon pall upon the 
over-excited mind, and the whole mass of cloud- 
capped fiction tells them, at last, that relief is 
not in me. Or they may seek this repose of the 
soul in some moon shiny philosophy that may 
happen to be in vogue ; but it soon says to them, 

— if it can say any thing distinctly, — it is not 
in me. Or, if their minds be of a stronger tex- 
ture, or hardier growth, they may rush into the 
conduct of affairs, and lose themselves in en- 
grossing pursuits of business. But all these ex- 
ternal engagements say to them, in quiet hours. 



WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS ? 169 

when they have a moment to think, this external 
peace is not in me. Or it may be sought in the 
smiling haunts of pleasure, as the term is, or, 
according to the dreadful misnomer we some- 
times hear, in a gay life. But they all say, after 
the first excitement is gone, it is not in me. 
Perhaps, in very weariness or disgust, they give 
some partial attention to the external forms of 
religion ; but they all give the same sad response. 
Why is it so ? The fault lies not in all or any 
of these outward means of happiness. They 
are all well enough in their place. They are 
all sufficient to serve the secondary purposes for 
which they were intended, and should not be 
held responsible for any thing beyond this. 
Where, then, does the fault lie ? The true an- 
swer is, it lies in the inquirer's own heart. He 
was intended for other objects, — for higher ends. 
And his spirit, true to the inspiration that God 
breathed into it at first, will not be satisfied with 
meaner objects. Like the balanced magnet, it 
will vibrate and dip and tremble, until it finds its 
true centre of attraction in the far-off heavens. 
Man was made for moral, for religious, for spirit- 
ual improvement ; and if he seek his highest 
happiness in any thing else or less, he will be 
sure to be disappointed, — he must be disappoint- 
ed. He was made to find the only sure repose 



170 WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS ? 

for his soul in an intimate union and oneness 
with God ; and is it strange, then, that he should 
fail to receive it from the miserable idols of 
this world? He w r as created to lift his " affec- 
tions to another country, even a heavenly," and 
ought he to expect that he can place them se- 
curely here below ? He was intended to become 
a child of heaven, and to dwell above ; why, 
then, should he vainly try to find his Father's 
home here ? 

Now these questions lead us to the solution of 
the whole difficulty. It is only perversities or 
mistakes that make us so slow to find it. Re- 
ligious peace can only come from a religious 
heart, — a heart in which there is no divided 
choice, — a heart which pays its highest alle- 
giance to the highest object, — a heart in which 
God reigns supreme, — a heart in which all 
other objects take a subordinate place. Friends, 
do I speak a language which has no answer- 
ing commentary in your personal experience, if 
I say, that when, in some bright and favored 
hour, you may have really sought, in singleness 
of aim, to be at one with God, and seen, by a 
clearer insight, that His approval was the all 
in all of your existence, and were ready to ex- 
claim, " Whom have I in heaven but Thee, 
and that there is none on earth I desire in com- 



WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS ? 



171 



parison with Thee," — under circumstances like 
these ; that you have felt, I do not say a hap- 
piness, for the word is all too cold and dead, 
but a serene, settled, solid repose of the spirit, a 
blessedness which is at once an antepast and a 
preparation for the happiness of heaven ? The 
promise of the holy Jesus, — " Great peace have 
they who love my law, and nothing shall offend 
them, 5 ' — is ever here and now fulfilled. Noth- 
ing, indeed ; but then mark the condition : they 
must " love my law," — not receive it because 
it 'happens to be in good or in not bad repute in 
the community in which they dwell, — not yield 
to it as merely decent or customary, — not bend 
to it from a servile dread of the lawgiver, — not 
submit to it as a necessary evil, — but accept it 
in the spirit of love, accept it in the spirit of 
adoption, accept it in a spirit of entire prefer- 
ence, accept it with a perfect integrity, and clear 
choice of the heart. 

The deficiencies of this imperfect state of the 
religious character are very many, since it con- 
sists mainly of negations. I have now time to 
allude to but one more, and this is a serious one 
indeed. It is, that it entirely fails — yes, entire- 
ly fails — of that religious preparation of the soul 
which is prescribed in the Gospel we possess as 
a condition of God's final favor. " What do ye 



172 



WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS ? 



more than others ? " asks the Saviour, plainly 
implying that something peculiar, something 
more than an average with the common standard 
of morals, is required of his disciples. If this be 
so, — and he has yet to learn the very alphabet 
of Christian duty who knows it not, — is it right, 
nay, is it safe, to remain satisfied with that stand- 
ard of duty which may pass current enough in 
society ? Is not the call ever onward ? Is not 
the struggle ever upward ? Is not the duty ever 
to be done ? These questions should fall with 
solemn emphasis on many ears which now kind- 
ly listen to this appeal. They should startle 
many from a false security which is produced by 
that sort of indecisive, middle, negative, not- 
doing, not-aspiring course, which, as it presents 
no strong or strikingly exceptionable points, so 
it visits not upon them the inward and outward 
admonitions that ever attend an outright, palpa- 
ble guilt. They should remember that they 
may live beneath, as well as against, the Gospel, 
and that this living beneath it is, in fact, living 
against it. They should remember, too, the Sav- 
iour's language towards Chorazin and Bethsaida : 
— "And thou, too, Capernaum," said he, " which 
art exalted unto heaven, shalt be brought down 
to hell " ; why ? " for if the mighty works which 
have been done in thee had been done in Sodom, 



WHAT DO YE MORE THAN OTHERS? 



173 



it would have remained to this day." But is not 
this true, in a parallel sense, of all peculiar privi- 
leges ? And shall any who enjoy such privileges 
think to escape the application of the language ? 
All of us of this community, and at this day, all 
of us here present, are, in moral and religious 
opportunities, exalted to heaven. Some have 
peculiar advantages, such as those of unbroken 
leisure, and books, and friends, and means of ac- 
tive charity, and every call and aid to a holy and 
heavenly life on earth. Let all such, and let us 
each and all, of every condition, inquire, in deep 
self-communion, whether our religious progress 
is commensurate with our religious privileges. 
What answer, in fine, could we make to the 
question, if it were put to us now individually 
by our Lord, in visible presence before us, in 
reference to our peculiar advantages, — " What 
do ye more than others ? " 



SERMON XII. 



THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, AS A RE- 
LIGIOUS TEACHER. 

We should think it a sad thing:, here and now, 
in a community professedly Christian, and in the 
middle of the nineteenth century, to feel obliged 
to say a word in vindication of the Divine au- 
thority of Jesus Christ, as a religious instructor, if 
we did not believe that it is a part of the system 
of Divine Providence to permit, from time to time, 
objections and cavils against all revealed truth to 
be made, that thereby this truth, by calling forth 
the efforts of its friends, should be the more fully 
and clearly established. As the atmosphere is 
purified by its storms, as the sea is kept healthful 
by its perpetual motion, as genuine principle is 
fortified by opposition, and as all that is real in 
character is strengthened by trial : so we find 
the " Truth as it is in Jesus."' in every stage of 
its progress, has been more firmly established. 



THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST. 175 

through the blind instrumentality of those who 
wittingly or unwittingly assail it. Irksome, then, 
as it may be to state anew positions that have 
been taken as established for ages, by the wisest 
and best men who have illustrated our common 
nature, and to reply again to objections which 
have been refuted a hundred times over, it is a 
task from which the Christian advocate should 
not shrink ; and he is cheered in the unwilling 
labor by the assurance, that if he be faithful to 
the precious truth with which he is intrusted, he 
need not fear for the result. 

It is also to be remarked, that it is incidental 
to the full enjoyment of the privilege of free dis- 
cussion^ that speculation should often run wild : 
that first principles should be continually called 
in question : that nothing should ever be consid- 
ered as established ; that those who are not well 
informed should not be fully aware, that what 
seems original to them is quite stale to others ; 
that some persons of an imaginative and dreamy 
turn of mind, and possessing small powers of 
ratiocination, should mistake resemblances for 
sequences, sparkling fragments of thought for ar- 
gument, and fanciful and picturesque phraseology 
for eloquent discussion : and that others, reckless, 
ambitious of notoriety, or smitten with the love 
of change, should aim at disturbing the time- 



176 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 

hallowed foundations of human belief, and, while 

" Most ignorant of what is most assured, 

Play such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 
As make the angels weep." 

All this must be borne, for it is the price that 
must be paid for the inestimable boon of free 
utterance. It is to be regarded as a part of that 
exquisite system of compensations which per- 
vades the whole system of Divine Providence, by 
which, throughout, " God hath set the one over 
against the other." 

It is further to be remembered, that, in the 
same providence of God, it is only by the strug- 
gle of opinion with opinion, argument with argu- 
ment, system with system, mind with mind, that 
the truth can be elicited. To see it in its entire- 
ness and purity is the prerogative of God alone. 
While, then, in the inquiry before us, we intend, 
in all plainness and directness, to present those 
views which seem to us to be true and just, we 
are deeply conscious of our need of further light ; 
and while we may feel constrained to refer to 
what appear to us gross and mischievous mis- 
takes, it will be with no intentionally unkind 
allusion to those who hold them ; and it is our 
most earnest and sincere prayer, that, from the 
conflict of opinions on this and on all subjects, 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 



177 



a light may be stricken out purer and clearer 
than is now enjoyed by the advocates of any. 

In endeavouring to ascertain the nature and 
degree of the authority that belongs to Jesus 
Christ, as a religious teacher, we shall confine 
ourselves to his own declarations, and to those 
of his immediate disciples and apostles, in their 
own unquestioned words, as recorded in the 
books of the New Testament. If any think 
that they have a higher source of information 
than this, and one through whose aid they 
may sit in judgment over it and reverse it, the 
experiment and the responsibility are theirs ; the 
clear and undisputed language of our Lord Jesus 
Christ, and of his own accredited apostles, is de- 
cisive with us. When we wish to know who and 
what this Teacher was, it is enough for us to sit, 
like Mary, at his feet, and "hear his words." If 
we are sure that the words are really his, — and 
of this, in the inquiry before us, there is no ques- 
tion, — then we must take them in their true and 
full import, unless we are willing to impute to 
him one of two shocking charges ; either, first, 
that of self-deception, or, second, that of an at- 
tempt to deceive others. At any rate, we say, 
that we " have not so learned Christ," and that 
we shrink with horror from both parts of the 
alternative. 

12 



178 



THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 



The inquiry, then, is plainly before us, — 
What does the unquestioned language of Jesus, 
and that of his earliest followers, who were 
taught by him, teach us concerning the nature 
and degree of his authority, as a religious 
teacher ? 

It teaches, we reply, according to our best ap- 
prehension of it, that Jesus Christ fulfils, in this 
relation, an office that has been committed to no 
other being. He claims to speak on the direct 
authority of the Infinite and Eternal God. This, 
we say, he claims, not only as his high preroga- 
tive, but as his peculiar and distinctive preroga- 
tive. Other teachers may be wise to know, and 
skilled to instruct, and powerful to persuade ; but, 
strictly speaking, they possess no authority. 
Their counsels may be judicious, their exhorta- 
tions powerful, their appeals subduing ; but they 
must rest entirely on their inherent force, and of 
this every individual who receives them must 
judge for himself. But Jesus claims, and it is 
claimed for him by those who were personally 
taught by him, to be heard on an authority above 
and beyond all this, on an authority above and 
beyond that which belongs to any other individ- 
ual, however gifted, however in advance of his 
species, however distinguished above his fellows 
in any respect ; namely, on the express and 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 



179 



specially delegated authority of none less, and 
none other, than the Infinite and Eternal God. 
When we listen to the seers and sages of ancient 
or of modern times, we may be interested, in- 
structed, delighted ; we may yield to that potent 
sway which genius always wields ; we may re- 
joice that such lights are cast upon our pilgrim 
path in life ; — but still we justly claim the right 
which belongs to us as equal, though humbler, 
fellow-men, to weigh their claims ; to estimate 
the value of their instructions ; to receive or re- 
ject their counsels ; to accept or refuse their di- 
rection. But when Christ appears, he " speaks 
as one having authority," and not as these scribes. 
Before his presence, all other instructors retire 
immeasurably into the background. He claims 
to speak u as never man spake " • with an author- 
ity, as we have said, above and beyond all others : 
with an authority before which all lettered ac- 
complishments are worthless, all human wisdom 
bows in deference, and all merely human author- 
ity stands abashed. If we admit his claims, we 
must receive his instructions with a childlike 
docility, his precepts with grateful acquiescence, 
his assurances with an implicit faith, his com- 
mands with an unquestioning obedience. Com- 
ing, as we thus believe he did, in a high and 
peculiar sense, from God ; commissioned, as we 



180 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 

thus believe he was, by God ; and speaking, as 
we believe he spoke, on the express authority of 
God ; we receive his words as the words of God, 
and of none other than God. 

As this, then, is the great point to be estab- 
lished, we now proceed to adduce a sketch of the 
evidence by which it is supported. 

And here we may first observe, that the infal- 
lible and distinctive authority of the teachings of 
Jesus is inferable from the high and peculiar rela- 
tions in reference to men which are ascribed to 
him in the Christian Scriptures. Thus our Sav- 
iour says of himself, " All power is given unto 
me in heaven and in earth." If this be restricted, 
as it doubtless should be, to the great objects of 
his mission, certainly teaching must be included 
among them, since this was one of the compo- 
nent and very important parts of this mission. 
So, too, teaching, in like manner, is included in 
certain other of these high and peculiar relations. 
Thus, for example, he is revealed to us as a Sav- 
iour. " I am come," said he, " to seek and save 
that which was lost." Now, so far as a salvation 
from ignorance and error was included in this 
assurance, — and it enters essentially into the 
very idea of it, — it must be wrought through 
the means of the infallible authority of his teach- 
ing. Again, he is revealed to us as our Master 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 



181 



and Lord. Thus, said he, "One is your master, 
even Christ." And so far as teaching important 
truth is connected with this relation, and it plain- 
ly makes a very important part of it, so far Jesus 
claims for his teaching an authoritative character. 
From this reference, slight as it is, to the author- 
ity which is thus in general terms ascribed to 
him, and to that which he asserts over his fol- 
lowers in certain high relations, it is obvious that 
his instructions come to his followers fraught 
with an imperative and distinctive authority. 
His directions in every part of doctrine and duty 
are to be implicitly followed by them, because 
they are his. However strict or burdensome 
they may appear to us, his disciples, we have no 
alternative left but that of obedience or disobe- 
dience. And in like manner his declarations re- 
specting our spiritual well-being are to be received 
with fullest confidence, because they are his. 
However strange they may seem to us, however 
foreign from our accustomed habits of thought, 
we have no choice remaining but to receive or 
reject them. There is no other alternative. 

But we are not left to infer the authoritative 
character of the teachings of Jesus from the re- 
lations which he is revealed as holding towards 
man. We have, in addition to this, his direct 
assertions. These are very numerous : but it 



1S2 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 

must suffice to quote a few : and it is obvious 
that any single one, that is explicit, is decisive 
of the question at issue. Thus Jesus tells the 
Jews, — " My doctrine is not mine, but his that 
sent me/- Again, "As my Father has taught 
me. I speak these things.*' Again. " I have not 
spoken of myself ; but the Father which sent 
me, he gave me commandment what I should 
say, and what I should speak ; whatsoever I 
speak, therefore, even as the Father said unto 
me, so I speak." And once again, for it cannot 
be necessary to multiply quotations to the same 
effect, " The words I speak unto you. / speak 
not of myself ; but the Father that dwelleth in 
me and in the same connection he says, " The 
word which ye hear is not mine, but the Father's 
which sent me." The plain import of all this 
is. we scarcely need to observe, that Jesus, dis- 
avowing all merely personal authority as a teach- 
er, claims to be heard on the ground of a special 
inspiration, and direct commission from Almighty 
God. 

We next observe, that the manner of Christ's 
teaching is in perfect keeping or agreement with 
this high claim. This manner is very peculiar. 
It is distinctively his own. He relies not on any 
of the usual modes of instruction, or of moral 
suasion. There is no formal annunciation of the 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 



183 



object of his discourse ; no regular plan pursued ; 
no anticipation of objections : no preparation to 
conciliate a favorable hearing ; no cautious an- 
nunciation of positions and facts ; no clearing 
away of objections ; no array of arguments ; no 
wary compromise with known prejudices ; no 
appeal to the sympathies or passions of his hear- 
ers ; — but he simply delivers his message, claims 
for it an unquestioning reception, as the very 
truth of God, leaves it to make its own way to 
the minds and hearts of his hearers, and calls 
upon them to receive or reject it, at their own 
proper peril. His language is, " It was said by 
them of old time," referring to Moses and the 
Prophets, " thou shalt not kill " ; but " I say un- 
to you " a very different thing, — I propound 
a much more accurate and high-toned system of 
duty ; thus claiming to be superior to the most 
favored servants of God in former ages. So it 
is throughout. He demands to be heard, not on 
account of his wisdom, not on account of his 
acquisitions, not on account of his experience in 
affairs, not on account of his power of persua- 
sion : — but simply on the ground, that he came 
from God, and was authorized to speak, as God, 
to men. How sublime, how entirely in keeping 
with the high commission he claimed, was this ! 
It reminds us of the more direct utterance of the 



184 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 

Eternal One, at the creation of the world, when 
he said, " Light be, and light was." 

In further confirmation of this remarkable and 
distinctive trait in the teaching of Christ, we 
observe that the impression obviously made on 
the minds of his hearers was that of power, — 
superhuman power. u And it came to pass," in 
the language of the Evangelist, at the close of 
Christ's sermon on the mount, " the people were 
astonished at his doctrine." And why? Be- 
cause " he taught them as one having authority, 
and not as the Scribes." That is, he taught 
them as one to whom not only the interpretation 
of the law was committed, but as one to whom 
the enacting of it had been intrusted ; or, at 
least, as one whose expositions were authorita- 
tive. Well might they, who had been accus- 
tomed to hear nothing better than the idle dis- 
putes of the Scribes and Pharisees concerning 
the outward rites and ceremonies of their law, 
" be astonished " at the simple grandeur of 
Christ's teachings, and their irresistible power to 
move, to persuade, to bend their minds to obedi- 
ence. Again, at the village of Nazareth, " where 
he had been brought up," the very last place on 
earth where any one may look for an over-favora- 
ble hearing, there and then, all, even his familiar 
associates and neighbours, " bore him witness, 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 



1S5 



and wondered at the gracious words that pro- 
ceeded out of his mouth.* 5 " The gracious 
words/' that is, the words so fitting and per- 
suasive, so moving and powerful, that his hear- 
ers were willing to escape from their potent in- 
fluence by referring to the supposed humble ori- 
gin of him from whom they proceeded : for they 
asked, " Is not this Joseph's, the carpenter's 
son ? " Again, they at Galilee, according to 
Luke, " were astonished at his doctrine, for his 
word was with power/'* And, to quote one 
more example, when Judas, having received a 
band of men and officers, who went to appre- 
hend him, as a felon, on the last dreadful night 
of his life on earth, "with lanterns and torches 
and weapons/' and he, knowing their errand and 
anticipating their approach, went forth to meet 
them, and said, " I am he*'; they — that is, 
these official tools of the public authority, these 
officers and soldiers, whose trade was in blood, 
and whose whole duty was an implicit obedi- 
ence — shrunk from the majesty and power of 
his address, and " went back and fell to the 
ground. '* And in like manner, too, when the 
Pharisees and chief priests, alarmed at his grow- 
ing ascendency in the minds of the people, "sent 
officers to take him," and they, having returned 
with their errand unaccomplished, were implied- 



1S6 



THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 



ly rebuked by the question, " Why have ye not 
brought him ? " their only excuse was, the over- 
powering mastery of his words ; " Never," said 
they, " man spake like this man." 

But whence came this authority, and why was 
the claim allowed ? Jesus Christ was, as to his 
whole appearance, a mere man, a very humble 
man, one destitute of all rank, standing, and in- 
fluence in society, with no peculiar accomplish- 
ments or address, with no previous reputation to 
conciliate attention, with no array of followers 
to enforce his claims, with no earthly advantages 
of any kind to advance or secure his influence. 
How, then, shall we account for the peculiar au- 
thority of his teachings, an authority which he 
wielded with such resistless power, and which 
was thus willingly or unwillingly accorded to 
him ? Well might his neighbours and towns- 
men ask, t£ Is not this the carpenter's son ? Is 
not his mother called Mary ? and his brethren, 
James and Joses and Simon and Judas ? And 
his sisters, are they not all with us ? Whence, 
then, hath this man all these things ? " Whence, 
indeed? What account shall be given of this 
phenomenon ? It cannot be explained on any of 
the ordinarily known principles which operate 
upon the human mind. Jesus himself gives us 
the reply, and it is the only sufficient one. It is 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 



1S7 



that alone which meets all the circumstances* of 
the case. It is that, at any rate, which his pro- 
fessed followers are bound to accept. And the 
answer is none other than was intimated by him 
in his reply to his townsmen, in which he refers 
to his prophetic character, and which, in numer- 
ous places elsewhere, he distinctly states, name- 
ly, that of miraculous works : works which 
none could do. unless God were with him, and 
which were the divine seal, visible to all men, 
that his mission and his message were divine. 

This brings us to the fourth position, in refer- 
ence to the authority of Christ as a teacher, 
which we distinctly and avowedly take, namely, 
that he rested this high and distinctive authority 
on those miraculous works, which " none other 
man did.-' Here, as in the other parts of the argu- 
ment. Ave must confine ourselves to the selection 
of a few passages out of many, only observing 
here again, that any one. that is distinct and ex- 
plicit from the lips of the Saviour, is as availa- 
ble in proof of the point at issue as would be a 
thousand. Thus, Jesus virtually asserted his 
miracles to be a proof of his divine commission, 
by assenting to the observation of Nicodemus. 
" We know," said the latter, "that thou art a 
teacher come from God ; for no man can do these 
miracles that thou doest. except God be with 



188 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 

him.' 5 Again, when John, who was in prison, 
^ had heard of the works of Christ, he sent two 
of his disciples, and said unto him, Art thou he 
who should come," (that is, the Messiah ex- 
pected by the Jews,) -or do we look for anoth- 
er ? " Jesus made no direct reply, in words, to 
the inquiry, but simply answered, " Go and 
show John those things which ye do hear and 
see : the blind receive their sight, and the lame 
walk, the lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, 
the dead are raised up. and the poor have the 
gospel preached unto them.'* Again, said Jesus 
to the Jews, who were asking for proof of his 
Messiahship, after proof enough, as it should 
seem, had been given, "I told you. and ye be- 
lieved not : the works that I do in my Father's 
name, they bear witness of me." Again, he says 
to them, in answer to their cavils, " If I do not 
the works of my Father," that is, the works 
which none but the Father, as the real agent, 
can do, works which therefore authenticate my 
Divine commission, — if I do not these works, 
w believe me not. But if I do, though ye be- 
lieve not me, believe the works, that ye may 
know and believe that the Father is in me, and 
I in him.' 5 And once more, — and what can be 
more decisive than this : — he said to his disci- 
ples, in his parting words to them, and in refer- 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 



189 



ence to the Jews who rejected him, " If I had 
not done among them the works which none 
other man did, they had not had sin ; but now 
have they both seen and hated both me and my 
Father." We close these citations here, because, 
if they be not sufficient to prove that Christ dis- 
tinctly and emphatically appealed to his miracles 
in authentication of his divine authority, as a 
teacher sent of God, we know of no language 
that can do so ; and with no unkind reference to 
the motives of others, we must say, that we can- 
not conceive of the state of mind of those who 
can read the language of the Saviour on this 
point, and yet be led to any other conclusion. 

We have thus seen that Christ claimed to 
speak on the delegated authority, and by the di- 
rect inspiration of Almighty God ; that his man- 
ner of teaching was in entire consonance and in 
perfect keeping with the character of one thus 
divinely commissioned and inspired ; that the 
immediate effects produced on the minds of those 
who received his instructions were precisely 
such as were naturally to be expected from such 
a teacher, and from such a teaching. We have 
used in this statement, it will be observed, the 
literal, the undisputed language of the Gospel 
record, and quoted none other than the very 
words of Jesus, and those of his immediate fol- 



190 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 

lowers and contemporaries, in regard to his claims. 
And what now is the result of the inquiry ? It 
is, as was intimated at the commencement of 
these remarks, plainly and irresistibly this : — 
He is to be received, as a divinely inspired and 
a miraculously endowed teacher of man in re- 
ligious truth and duty, or he is to be rejected, 
as one who was deceived himself, or was design- 
edly attempting to deceive others. There is 
nothing but this fearful alternative left. He was 
self-deceived, or he was a deceiver. But we can- 
not stop here. The former part of this dilemma 
cannot be entertained for a moment. He must 
have known whereof he affirmed. He must have 
known whether or not he held high, intimate, 
and peculiar communion with God. And he 
must have known, especially, whether or not. 
when he spoke to the tempests, they obeyed his 
bidding : whether or not diseases fled at his 
touch ; whether or not the dead rose to life at 
his command. He could not certainly be de- 
ceived in this ; and the fearful alternative is, 
therefore, yet further reduced to this more shock- 
ing form : — Christ is to be received as a divine- 
ly commissioned instructor of men, or he icas a 
deceiver. This is the simple issue that must 
be fairly met. There is no escaping from it. 
There is no middle ground where the inquirer 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 



191 



can stand. If the Gospel record be received as 
essentially true, — and concerning this there can 
be no doubt with those who claim to be Chris- 
tians in any intelligible sense of the word, and 
we are not dealing here with avowed infidels and 
scoffers : — if the words and deeds of Jesus and 
his immediate followers, as recorded in the Gos- 
pel, be authentic, then we must take these as 
they are, and abide the issue. General reason- 
ing is out of place here ; vague philosophizing 
is out of place here ; shreds and filaments of 
thought, however showy, are out of place here ; 
above all, the childish achievement of attempt- 
ing to pull down the fabric of acknowledged 
truth, without substituting any thing in its stead ; 
the poor triumph of questioning what the many 
believe ; a desultory but reckless warfare on that 
loyal faith which myriads cherish in their inmost 
souls, as a priceless boon ; a partial, bold, misty, 
self-idolizing speculation ; — all these are wholly 
out of place here. The simple, naked, intelligi- 
ble question is this, and only this : — Is Christ 
to be believed, on his own assertion, when he 
claims to be a divinely commissioned and mirac- 
ulously endowed, and therefore authoritative 
instructor ; or has he attempted to play off up- 
on the world, in asserting this claim, an elaborate 
DECEPTion, a premeditated falsehood ? 



192 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 

But why are men impatient of authority in 
matters of religious belief ? The deep founda- 
tion that is laid for this, in the very constitution 
of the human soul, has already been shown in a 
recent paper in the Christian Examiner ; # to 
which, as it emanated from a different source 
than the present one, we may be permitted to 
refer, as an eminently just and philosophical 
view of the subject. But there are some practi- 
cal uses subserved by this authority, to which 
we would now briefly advert. 

And, first, it is necessary to authenticate and 
give efficacy to the instructions of Jesus. In 
stating, above, his claims in this respect, we 
have, necessarily, anticipated this thought. But 
it requires to be more distinctly considered. Sup- 
pose, then, in further illustration of it, that Christ 
were divested of his high and peculiar commis- 
sion as a teacher sent from God, but endowed 
with the highest gifts of intellect that have ever 
belonged to any human creature ; nay, suppose 
that his mind, like the ancient artist's model of 
beauty, were composed of " nature's best," in 
the best of all other minds which have ever ex- 
isted, but unaided by any supernatural light : 
still he could not speak to man " as one having 
authority," in any proper sense of the term. 



* No. 108. Art. VI. 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 193 

Suppose ; yet farther, the impossible fact, that 
there could be collected, from the various ages 
and climes of the world, a series of precepts of 
equal value with those of the Gospel ; suppose, 
yet again, that this system should be recom- 
mended by the names of all the illustrious phi- 
losophers and moralists who have ever existed, 
and that they all should lend their concentrated 
weight of character to give it currency among 
men ; yet all this would add nothing to its au- 
thority, in the strict sense of the word. It would 
give to it not a tittle of obligation, as a rule of 
life. It would be still competent for every man 
to whom it should be offered to accept or to reject 
it, in whole or in part, as he pleased, and as it 
might happen to suit his own peculiar prejudices, 
passions, or caprices. High as the names might 
be by which it were recommended, they would 
still be human names ; and being human, could 
possess, strictly speaking, no authority over hu- 
man creatures like its authors. The stream 
could never rise higher than its source. It might 
take its origin at the way-side, or in a hillock, or 
in a mountain, but never in heaven. The coun- 
sels thus offered for our guidance might be good, 
profitable, transcendently wise counsels ; but still 
they would be the counsels of mere fallible men, 
and being such, they would possess no inherent 

13 



194 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 



authority. They must pass for what they are 
worth, and no more ; and of this every man must 
judge for himself ; so that, after all, virtually and 
in fact, in point of authority, obligation, and 
binding force, they are nothing worth. And to 
all this, add one supposition more ; — that the 
imaginary teacher, whom, to illustrate the po- 
sition we have taken, we have created, should 
profess, as Jesus really did, to resolve doubts 
under whose cold pressure the world had groaned 
for thousands of years, and to reveal, as he in 
fact did, truths concerning God and his govern- 
ment which are of the deepest and most concern- 
ing interest to man, and for the knowledge of 
which the human soul has ever been athirst ; 
still the question would be, on the part of the 
hearer or recipient, as it was in fact addressed to 
Christ himself, " By what authority doest thou 
these things? " How is it that this light has 
dawned upon thy mind ? " Whence has this man 
this wisdom ? " " What sign showest thou, that 
we may see it and believe thee ? How comes it to 
pass, that what has escaped the anxious research 
of all the gifted minds of all previous ages is re- 
vealed to thee ? " Is it not plain that men would 
doubt, and would have an indisputable right to 
doubt, any mere mortal man's claims thus to 
speak of subjects which the whole moral and 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 



195 



intellectual history of man has shown to be 
beyond the reach of the unaided powers of the 
human mind ? 

And this necessity of authoritative teaching is 
greatly strengthened by the fact, that the instruc- 
tions of Jesus which constitute their peculiarity. 
— such, for example, as our filial relation to God, 
his paternal care of man, the certainty of a future 
and retributory state, the promised return to 
prayer, the conditions of pardon for sin, — were* 
as we have said, direct assertions on the part of 
Jesus. He does not urge them on the ground of 
their reasonableness, he does not depend for their 
reception on a course of argument and illustra- 
tion from positions and facts previously known 
or admitted ; but he claims for them uncon- 
ditional acceptation, entirely and exclusively on 
his own simple assertion. He claims, as we have 
seen, to be believed, solely on the ground of his 
authority, as a messenger from Almighty God. 
u As the Father hath taught me, I speak these 
things," is his continual language ; and this claim 
he authenticates by referring to the divine seal 
of miraculous works. It was this assertion of 
Divine inspiration and guidance, thus enforced 
and established by superhuman agency, in one 
word, it was this asserted authority of Jesus 
which gave to his instructions their vitality, in- 



196 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 

fluence, and effect. And it was this alone. If 
he had not thus spoken, and if he had not thus 
enforced what he spoke, his instructions would 
have fallen dead upon a perverse and bigoted 
people ; they would have been ascribed to a 
wicked ambition, or to a brain-sick enthusiasm. 
Without this miraculous support, they would 
have been scarcely more permanent than the 
passing breeze which bore them to the ears of 
the hearers. Without this miraculous authenti- 
cation, they would have been as evanescent as 
were those of the false Christs who were crying, 
u Lo, here ! " and "Lo, there ! " Without this 
miraculous proof, they would have died away in 
the echo of his own dying groans. But because 
he did thus speak, and did thus authenticate his 
words by his works, they have sunk into the 
hearts of millions ; they have been repeated, from 
age to age, as the words of God, in the glad 
voices of saints, confessors, and martyrs, even 
down to our times ; they have sounded, in an 
unearthly note, high and clear, above the con- 
fused noises of religious controversy, to which, 
through the blindness and perversity of his fol- 
lowers, they have given rise ; their message, like 
the inarticulate language of nature, that primal 
revelation of God to man, " has gone out through 
all the earth, and their words to the ends of the 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 



197 



world " ; and they are constantly fulfilling the 
Saviour's prophecy, " Lo, I am with you always, 
even to the end of the world." Yes, reverently 
we say it, " Facts are God Almighty's argu- 
ments " ; and such astounding facts, as these 
miraculous attestations have told, are telling, and 
shall tell on, their own august story, establishing 
the believer, arresting the thoughtless, and con- 
founding the gainsayer, unto the great consum- 
mation foretold in the glorious prophecy of holy 
Paul, " When Christ shall have put down all rule, 
and all authority and power : for he must reign 
until he hath put all enemies under his feet." 

But in addition to the fact, that such an au- 
thority as Jesus claimed and vindicated was 
necessary to authenticate his doctrine as divine, 
and give it a firm hold upon the minds of men, 
it is to be observed, what, indeed, has not unfre- 
quently been stated before, that it is only by 
authority of some kind — that is, by authority 
considered as distinct from the ordinary methods 
of instruction by means of explanation, argument, 
persuasion — that the minds of the great mass of 
men can be operated upon at all. They have not 
inclination, they have not, in many cases, the ca- 
pacity, they have not leisure, they have not those 
habits of patient attention, which are prerequisite 
to the full effect of instruction through the mere 



198 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 

instrumentality of moral suasion. This was es- 
pecially true of the Jewish nation at the period 
of our Saviour's advent. Beside that hardness 
and insensibility to moral instruction that belong 
to the general mind in all countries, they were 
prejudiced, especially, against the Saviour, on 
account of the utter blight he cast on their 
worldly and ambitious hopes in reference to their 
expected Messiah. Thus we find that his doc- 
trines, even when enforced by his miraculous 
works, found small acceptance with them. These 
wonderful facts, which, being addressed to all 
their senses, they could not deny, instead of ac- 
cepting and acknowledging as a divine seal of 
the reality of his mission, they ascribed, after 
the current notions of their time, to the agency 
of evil spirits. And how little availing, how 
almost powerless, are the ordinary modes of 
moral and religious instruction, is lamentably 
apparent in our own days. It is to be hoped, 
indeed, that so much honest and earnest elfort 
as is bestowed upon it is not wholly thrown 
away ; but the results are any thing but encour- 
aging ; though it is urged on the ground of the 
authority of the Saviour, and on the sanctions 
that he revealed. We do not know, we would 
not undertake to say, but we think there is little 
reason to doubt, that, if the instructions of Christ 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 



199 



were even now accompanied by the same palpa- 
ble authentication of miracles which they origi- 
nally had, they would have much effect on minds 
thoroughly worldly, that is, on the great mass of 
minds. "If they will not hear Moses and the 
Prophets," said the Saviour, " neither would they 
hear, though one should rise from the dead." 
This, we are afraid, is as true now as it was 
when Jesus uttered the words. Minds thorough- 
ly opposed to his authority would ascribe such 
miraculous works to some occult agency, or to 
some imposition on the senses, or they would 
deny their efficacy in proof of a divine authority, 
or they would be too much engrossed by the 
"farm or the merchandise," or by some darling 
connection or pursuit, or by some scheme of am- 
bition, to give much attention to the subject ; or 
they would look to that "more convenient sea- 
son " which never comes, to examine it ; and 
thus heaven and earth might be moved to arrest 
their attention, and all would be in vain. And 
if such be the small effects of moral and religious 
instruction, when thus enforced by the palpable 
presence of the " hand divine," when thus visi- 
bly authenticated by the presence of Almighty 
God, how powerless must be such instructions, 
when deprived of all aids like these ! Do we 
not see then, here again, the absolute necessity 



200 



THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 



of that divine authority, considered as distinct 
from mere argument and persuasion, which Jesus 
claimed and exercised, to give effect to his in- 
structions on the great mass of men ? 

We next observe, that, by thus making those 
truths of religion which are peculiar to the Gos- 
pel to depend mainly on the authority of Jesus 
Christ, God pursues the same course that He 
employs in conveying the principal part of all 
other knowledge to man. He has made us to 
depend upon the confidence we place in others, 
howsoever it be created, for very much that we 
do and know. This is the chief source of in- 
formation in infancy and in childhood, and of 
those home-bred charities in consequence, that 
cheer and bless the filial and parental relation. 
What we can ascertain, of our own selves, to be 
true, makes but a small part of that knowledge 
upon which we must act in the whole conduct 
of after life. All else we do and must receive 
on the credit of others, that is, upon authority. 
Science is infinite ; but the human faculties are 
feeble and circumscribed. The range of things 
knowable is boundless, whilst the range of things 
known is a span. A world of undiscovered truths 
stretches out on all sides : but the horizon that 
bounds our view shuts down in a narrow circle 
close around us. The most that the best of us 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 



201 



can do is to learn and follow out some single 
track in life. Now it is a condition of this state 
of things, that we must depend, mainly, upon the 
assertions and pretensions of each other for infor- 
mation and guidance in regard to every thing 
that lies out of this track ; that is, upon author- 
ity, or upon the confidence we place in others. 
If we wish to trust our persons or our property at 
sea, we must confide in the master of the vessel, 
in his skill, firmness, and probity. He, too, 
again, must confide in the ability and care of 
those learned men who have ascertained the 
ephemeris, and arranged the tables, and pre- 
scribed the rules by which he works his way 
along the untracked sea ; and what is this but 
believing and acting upon authority, considered 
as distinct from personal knowledge ? If we are 
sick, we are glad to place ourselves under the 
care of some practitioner of the healing art, 
though we know very little of that wondrous 
machine, the human body, and still less of the 
grounds and reasons of the curative processes 
that may be pursued. Still, we trust implicitly 
to another's guidance. We deem him to be ca- 
pable and honest, and this is enough. And 
what is this, again, but acting upon authority, 
in contradistinction to actual knowledge ? If we 
find it necessary to seek redress for an injury at 



202 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 

the laws of the land, we must call in the aid of 
others, who are supposed to be skilled in the 
knowledge and application of these laws, since 
we want the requisite information to act for our- 
selves ; that is, we trust entirely to our appre- 
hensions of the skill and faithfulness of others. 
And what is this, again, but acting upon author- 
ity, considered as distinct from any knowledge 
of our own ? All these persons, again, must, in 
like manner, trust, in a great degree, to the re- 
corded experience of those who preceded them 
in their various professions ; and yet more im- 
plicitly to other persons, in all those questions 
and interests which lie out of their peculiar 
province. 

Such is the condition of human life. We are 
so constituted and so situated in this world, that 
we must take much upon trust. We must have 
faith in each other. Without it, the business 
and the intercourse of life must stop. The few 
gleams of light which we can call our own are 
not sufficient to direct us, and if we would pur- 
sue our way in safety, we must borrow and ap- 
propriate the light of others. We must depend 
on their trustworthiness ; on the confidence we 
place in them ; in one word, we must act upon 
authority, where and whensoever, and it is almost 
everywhere and always, that our own knowl- 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 203 

edge is deficient. Now it is just so in religion. 
Here, too, where our personal knowledge fails 
us, and it is at best but a glowworm's light, we 
must act on the guidance of other minds. All 
that we can do here, as in the common affairs of 
life, is to ascertain, as well as we can, the ability 
and probity of our guides, and then follow their 
leading. Nor need we greatly mistake in this. 
The marks of trustworthiness are easily known. 
" The wayfaring man, though a fool, need not 
err therein." Even children understand them 
well. Men are not often deceived, except 
through, their over-easiness or willingness to 
be deceived. Truth and reality always bear 
their own divine impress, and they are recog- 
nized at once by the mind, as light is by the out- 
ward eye. In the strain of life, what is weak 
and unsubstantial gives way : and in the wear 
and tear of events, what is merely glossy and su- 
perficial is soon wore off. Since, then, in religion, 
as in the affairs of common life, we must, in a 
great degree, depend on the knowledge and truth- 
fulness of others, so God has given to us the ca- 
pacity of recognizing the marks of these in the 
concerns of religion, as in all things else. He 
has put his seal upon them, and none need fail 
to recognize it. 

And now, to apply these remarks to the sub- 



204 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 

ject before us, all this is emphatically true of the 
great instruction of the Gospel, and of the great 
instructor, Jesus Christ. He makes us to depend 
on the credibility and authority of the teacher 
here, as in the common concerns of life ; but as 
the instruction is above and beyond all human 
knowledge and experience, and is, moreover, of 
unspeakable concernment, he has superadded to 
all those other marks of truthfulness and probity, 
which irresistibly inspire our confidence in ordi- 
nary affairs, the great, the infallible seal of a di- 
vine commission, that is, miracles ; works which 
none could do, unless God were with him ; the 
impress of the Divine authority ; the authentic 
token of the Divine presence ; the universally 
intelligible signet of the Divine hand. Thus, 
though the message may be one whose discover- 
ies are amazing, whose directions are absolute and 
uncompromising, whose sanctions are startling ; 
though, as a whole, it may fill the mind with 
wonder, astonishment, and awe : yet we hesitate 
not for an instant to receive it, for we recognize 
therein the Heavenly V oice ; we see the proofs 
of a Divine interposition ; the seal, the impress, 
the token, the signet of Almighty God are there, 
and we believe and adore. 

We cannot but add to these remarks, that the 
human soul needs this high and authoritative in- 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 205 

struction ; needs it for its guidance, needs it for 
its support, needs it, in both respects, in the 
strong sense of want. This has often been ad- 
verted to by serious and truly earnest minds, and 
cannot be too strongly stated. Men, left to the 
suggestions and intuitions and inferences of their 
own unaided minds, have even lost themselves 
in doubts, perplexities, and errors. The ques- 
tion of Pilate, " What is truth ? " they have 
asked at a thousand earthly oracles, but have 
only been further confused by the various and 
contradictory responses which have been given. 
They have achieved high success in the arts 
which minister to the sense of beauty ; they 
have made sure attainments in the exact sci- 
ences ; they have drained dry the sources of 
merely animal enjoyment ; but the inner wants 
of the spirit of man were not met ; the thirst of 
the soul, for a true and satisfying good, was not 
slaked. How unspeakable, then, is the privilege 
of having an authentic guide in the great ques- 
tions of religious faith and duty. These baffle 
the highest reach of the unassisted human intel- 
lect. Intimations we have, indeed, of their true 
solution ; and when resolved by the light of the 
Gospel, the mind yields to it in glad and grate- 
ful acquiescence. But, relating as these inquiries 
do to the character of God, his government, his 



206 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 



designs in regard to man, his interest in us as in- 
dividuals, the terms of his acceptance of us, and 
our future destination ; they can be fully an- 
swered only as He sees fit to reveal them. This 
is true in regard to the highest human intellect. 
The most gifted sages of antiquity deeply felt 
this, and sighed for further light, and sighed in 
vain. And if this were the fact in regard to 
minds like these, what must, of necessity, be the 
condition of the great mass of men ? Let the 
spiritual condition of the whole heathen world 
answer this question. Let the mental and moral 
condition of those ever since, who have ques- 
tioned or denied the truth of Christianity, answer 
this question. Let our own minds, restless, dark- 
ened, dissatisfied, seeking light from every other 
source, and baffled in all, answer this question. 
Let our hearts, sighing for repose, and the bless- 
edness of a sure support, but finding none in 
their own resources, or in the broad earth around 
them, answer this question. Let our hopes, 
let our fears, let our misgivings under a sense 
of guilt and conscious need of pardon, answer 
this question. Yes, the best minds, all minds, 
feel the inevitable necessity of a light and help 
beyond their own resources, and they can only 
find it in an authoritative revelation from God 
Almighty : in precisely such a revelation as He, 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 



207 



in His mercy, has given by Jesus Christ, His own 
dear and highly commissioned Son. Shall we 
not then prize this " great salvation," which 
thus meets all the deeper and more intimate 
necessities of the soul, and one which is authen- 
ticated by nothing less, and we would reverently 
use the expression, than the sign-manual of the 
Eternal Father of all ? 

But this need is yet more keenly felt in the 
night of affliction, when all merely human sup- 
port proves treacherous, and human succour fails ; 
when the mind is overwhelmed by the pressure 
of outward ills, and yet more crushed with a 
sense of its own helplessness. Then it requires, 
beyond all power of expression, a brighter light 
and a better help than can be found in its own 
dark, feeble, questioning results. Then its own 
speculations, and reasonings, and suggestions, 
and intuitions are found to be untrustworthy, 
Then it instinctively seeks for guidance and aid 
beyond itself. Then, in filial awe, it gladly 
looks towards that full-orbed light that has? 
arisen with " healing in its beams 7 ' ; then, in 
grateful submission, it turns with the ardent and 
impulsive apostle to Jesus, and says, " To whom 
shall we go ? Thou hast the words of eternal 
life." Thus 

" In weariness, 
In disappointment, or distress, 



208 THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST, 

When strength decays, or hope grows dim, 
We ever may recur to Him, 

Who has the golden oil divine, 
Wherewith to feed our failing urns, 
Who watches every lamp that burns 

Before his sacred shrine." 

We have thus endeavoured to explain and il- 
lustrate the authority which Jesus Christ impera- 
tively claims for himself, and which is distinctly 
ascribed to him, by his immediate disciples and 
followers, in the Christian Scriptures, and par- 
ticularly his authority as a divinely commissioned 
teacher. We have endeavoured to show that his 
peculiar mode of teaching, its direct effect, and 
the authentication of miracles to which he ap- 
pealed, all concur to confirm his claim, as an 
authoritative and infallible teacher sent of God. 
We have referred to the facts of the importance 
and need of such an authority to recommend and 
enforce the truths he taught ; that it is only by 
authority of some kind, considered as distinct 
from the ordinary modes of moral suasion, that 
the minds of the great mass of men can be op- 
erated upon at all : that this mode of teaching is 
precisely analogous to that pursued by God in 
teaching most things else to man ; and that we 
all experience the deep necessity of such a kind 
of instruction, both for our guidance and sup- 
port, in such a world as this. And we now add. 



AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. 209 

in taking leave of the subject, what indeed is an 
inevitable inference from these positions, that this 
authority of Jesus is the all-concerning fact of his 
religion ; that without this its peculiar force and 
significance are destroyed, and all its revelations, 
precepts, and sanctions are little more than a 
solemn trifling. Yes, Ave repeat it, the divine 
authority of Jesus Christ as a teacher sent of 
God is the all-concerning fact of the religion of 
Christians. If he be nothing else than a good 
and wise man, with only a little more of that 
natural light which belongs to us all, then, in- 
deed, may all the heralds of his Gospel say, with 
the apostle, " is our preaching vain, and your 
faith is also vain." If men may reject his pecu- 
liar claims, correct his presumed mistakes, in- 
struct him in his ignorance, rejudge his judg- 
ments, repudiate his teachings, just so far as they 
do not happen to coincide with the intuitions 
and suggestions of their own minds ; if they, in 
fine, virtually Christless. may thus make them- 
selves to be Christs, then we must say, with 
Mary, " They have taken away from our Chris- 
tianity the Lord, and Ave knoAv not Avhere they 
have laid him." They have taken from our 
faith its great and distinctive principle ; its poAv- 
er, its vitality, are gone ; its spirit is departed ,• 
and nothing remains of it but a dead letter. But 
14 



210 



THE AUTHORITY OF JESUS CHRIST. 



" we have not so learned Christ." We have 
been taught in another school. We have sat at 
the feet of another Teacher. We have long 
been glad, in gratitude and meekness, to listen 
to Jesus. " as one having authority." and rejoice 
to believe, that for this high purpose, among 
others. u God hath highly exalted him. and giv- 
en him a name, which is above every name, that 
at the name of Jesus every knee should bow. of 
things in heaven, and things in earth, and things 
under the earth : and that every tongue should 
confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of 
God the Father/' 



SERMON 



XIII. 



THE APPARENT DARKNESS OF GOD S PROVIDENCE. 

WHAT I DO THOU KNOWEST NOT NOW ) BUT THOU SHALT 
KNOW HEREAFTER. John xiH. 7. 

This remark of our Lord to Peter is also the 
continual language of God in the events of His 
providence. He will have us to live by faith, 
not by sight. Human life, considered as a com- 
plete and ultimate scheme, presents us at every 
step with problems which we know not how to 
solve, and darkness settles on our path which no 
human eye can pierce. Questions are continu- 
ally arising which baffle our best skill, and, after 
taxing our minds to the utmost, only serve to 
give us new lessons of the depth and boundless- 
ness of human ignorance. We know not, for 
example, why physical evil, or suffering, should 
be so differently dispensed among creatures who 
are equally the children of God ; or why moral 



212 



THE APPARENT DARKNESS 



evil, or sin. under an infinitely wise and good 
and powerful government, should be permitted 
to exist at all. Our best concerted plans often 
disappoint our hopes. " The race is obviously 
not always to the swift, nor the battle to the 
strong." Trifling circumstances, which no hu- 
man sagacity can foresee, are continually decid- 
ing the most momentous concerns, in the most 
unexpected manner. Industry in business not 
unfrequently labors for naught : activity in en- 
terprise is often unavailing : fruitfulness of re- 
source only leads to varied disappointment : per- 
severance goes on from failure to failure : while 
wealth, meantime, is showered into the lap of 
the careless, the thriftless, and the idle. Health 
is almost wholly denied to some t it is scarcely 
ever withholden from others. Debility and pain 
are the portion of one class of individuals all 
life long, and the best they can hope, with all 
their solicitude and caution, is but a change from 
greater suffering to a less ; while another class, 
amidst exposure and privation, and even m the 
indulgence of passions and appetites which usu- 
ally drain dry the springs of life, yet live on in 
strength and ease. Human estimation is often, 
to our view, strangely dispensed. It seems 
sometimes to be the result of what men call the 
accidents of birth, or rank, or place, or of pecu- 



of god's providence. 



213 



liar circumstances. It is thrust, as it were, upon 
some, without either effort or desert on their part, 
while it eludes the painful toil, the watchful 
eye, the eager grasp of others. Sorrows, indeed, 
come to most ; but in how varied a character, 
and in how different a degree. They are whol- 
ly irrespective of moral worth ; and often visit, 
in their most dreadful aspect, those whom, if 
any, we should hope and believe would enjoy 
an immunity from their approach. And death, 

— death, the final change, — death, the great, 
remediless change, though it comes to all alike, 

— there is no even apparently partial allotment 
in this, — yet comes under circumstances which 
teach us the utter insecurity of human reliances, 
the utter fallacy of human hopes. We see the 
child cut off in the bud and blossom of its be- 
ing, while infirm old age is carried on further 
and further into the barren winter of life. The 
strong are stricken in the meridian of their 
strength, while the weak and the diseased are 
spared. The worthy are taken, the worthless 
are left. The closest ties that bind together 
human hearts are ruthlessly broken, while those 
which are loosely or irksomely worn outlast the 
saddest vicissitudes. And the angel of death, 
passing over the abodes of wretchedness, where 
he would be welcomed as a friend, we often see 



214 



THE APPARENT DARKNESS 



falling upon the peaceful and happy family cir- 
cle, and in the hour of its fancied security, and 
at a blow, making it forlorn and desolate. 

Such is plainly the course of God's provi- 
dence. It is in vain that we attempt to conceal 
it. We may discern, indeed, some general laws 
of goodness and care, which are plain enough 
for our guidance in the ordinary affairs of life, 
and are stable enough for our confidence in vir- 
tuous effort ; but still, results are known only to 
God. Our duty is made plain, but the issues of 
human conduct in this world are veiled in doubt 
and darkness. This, at first view, may seem a 
melancholy and disheartening aspect of the Di- 
vine government. We may be ready to consider 
it as a great unhappiness, that so much uncer- 
tainty should rest upon human life, that there is 
no more security in human expectations, that 
God's ways are so mysterious to us. But upon 
reflection we shall find, I think, that even all 
these circumstances are ordered in infinite wis- 
dom and love, and that they are the direct, and, 
so far as we know, the only means of securing 
our highest welfare for the longest time. This 
I now propose to illustrate. 

I begin with the obvious remark, that nothing 
is very important to us, as immortal and ac- 
countable beings, but our moral and religious 



of god's providence. 



215 



characters. Our spiritual state — the condition 
of that deathless being which we call ourselves, 
as it appears to the Omniscient Eye — is the great 
concern. It matters little whether our life on 
earth extend to many years or to few. since not 
only the longest period is but a point compared 
with the whole duration of the human soul, but 
the shortest period is long enough, if well em- 
ployed, to enable us to win an immortal crown. 
It matters little what the incidents of life are, 
provided they be consecrated to God and duty. 
It matters little whether joy or sorrow be our 
lot. provided they both be used for the improve- 
ment of the heart, temper, and life. Success 
we so earnestly seek, health we so much covet, 
an outward happiness we so devoutly pursue, ex- 
ternal possessions which so engross our thoughts ; 
— what are they worth, compared with that 
moral preparation of the spirit within, on which 
depends our well-being in time and in eternity. 
Nothing, certainly, compared with this, is worth 
a single thought. The great question is, not 
what we enjoy, not what we possess, not what 
we suffer, not even what we do ; but what we 
are. That condition of life is best for you and 
for me, which has a tendency to make us the 
best men and the best Christians. — be it what it 
may. 



216 



THE APPARENT DARKNESS 



I now observe, that this uncertainty which 
hangs over the future, this ignorance of the de- 
signs of Providence in respect to our condition 
in this life, affords an admirable, and, so far as 
we know, an indispensable, moral and religious 
discipline of the soul. This is now to be briefly 
illustrated. 

And in the first place, this uncertainty and 
ignorance must naturally dispose all reflecting 
minds to a habit of constant watchfulness ; — 
watchfulness, I mean, in regard to the issues of 
human conduct. " What I say unto you/' — 
these are the words of the Saviour of men, — 
" I say unto all, Watch." And why ? " Because 
ye know not when your Lord cometh." You 
know not what the future has in reserve. You 
may be tried by adversity, by sickness, or by 
the approach of death, and you know not when. 
Is it not wise, then, to be prepared for their ap- 
proach ? Is it not wise to be habitually prepared 
for what may at any time befall us ? Suppose 
that the hour were marked out, in the calendar 
of our lives, when we must encounter these sad 
trials. Suppose, for instance, that the day of our 
death was distinctly made known to us. If it 
were near, it would naturally overwhelm us with 
anxiety and alarm. If it were distant, we should 
be liable to put off all serious thoughts of it un- 



of god's providence. 



217 



til its nearer approach, and pass the interval in 
more than ordinary forgetfulness of God and of 
preparation for heaven. In both eases, our moral 
improvement would suffer. As it is. living, as 
we do. in a world where nothing is constant but 
change, how easily do Ave forget the solemn re- 
sponsibleness under which we are acting ! And 
can we desire, then, to remove those moral re- 
straints which are now imposed upon us by the 
uncertainty of our present condition ? If we do. 
we desire to remove one of the greatest of those 
inducements to moral and religious improvement 
which now influence the minds of men. 

Another important effect of the uncertainty 
which marks the doings of Providence is. to 
teach us to feel habitually our dependence upon 
God. This is a lesson which, notwithstanding 
the constant instructions which are now given 
us from on high of the insecurity of earthly 
happiness, is rarely ever well learned. Suppose, 
then, that these were withholden, that there 
were no disappointments of human expectations. 
Suppose success always, and by a known rule 3 
followed effort : — would there not be great dan- 
ger that we should become self-confident and 
presumptuous ? Success, even in the uncertain 
manner it is now dispensed, is a harder trial of 
most men's characters than failure. Few, in- 



218 



THE APPARENT DARKNESS 



deed, are able to bear it. The observation of 
every day confirms the truth of this remark. If, 
then, it were rendered certain, would it not lead 
men. like the impious king of old, in an over- 
estimate of their own sufficiency, to lift them- 
selves up against the Lord of heaven ? How 
great, then, is the mercy of disappointments ! 
They come, like the mysterious handwriting on 
the wall, to startle us from a delusive security, 
and lead us to place our whole dependence on 
God alone. 

But, thirdly, it is not merely a sense of neces- 
sary dependence upon God, a dependence which 
is forced upon us by the insecurity which attends 
all things else, that is inculcated by the darkness 
of God's providence ; but it leads us to place an 
implicit and childlike confidence in our Heavenly 
Father. This virtue, like all the other real and 
effective virtues, can only be acquired and per- 
fected by trial, and it can only be tried by the 
adverse circumstances of our lot in life. When 
all is bright and happy in our condition, when 
all within is peaceful, and all without is prosper- 
ous, it is no difficult thing, except, perhaps, with 
the stupid, the over-busy, the vile, or the frivo- 
lous, to look up to God in filial confidence and 
trust. But this virtue, — I say it again, — to 
be a virtue worth the name, must be tried, and 



of god's providence. 



219 



it can only be tried by unforeseen and gloomy 
vicissitude. It may spring up in the sunshine, 
but it must be strengthened and matured and 
rooted by the storm. You do, you may sincere- 
ly think, trust in God ; you do, you may really 
believe, look to Him in filial confidence. But 
will it abide a searching test ? Do you, I ask, 
feel this filial trust strong at your heart, amidst 
disappointment, poverty, blighted hopes, ingrati- 
tude, envyings, hatred, and calumnies ? Does it 
render you serene, patient, and hopeful amidst 
persecution, infirmity, pain, distress ? Do you 
find it near you when you watch in the chamber 
of a sick friend ? Do you find it sustain you 
when you bend over his bed of death, and close 
for ever those eyes which never looked but in 
love and tenderness unutterable upon you ? If 
so, then holy peace of heart is indeed secured ; 
but if you will trace its origin, you will find it 
in the history of the past. You will perceive 
that it was not the product of the hour, nor the 
growth of your happy and prosperous days, but 
that it was first suggested to the soul in the 
darker seasons of adversity, and that by the 
same sad ministry it was afterwards strengthened 
and perfected. In a review like this, you will 
need none to teach you how gracious God is, 
even in the severest of his allotments. You will 



220 



THE APPARENT DARKNESS 



need no arguments to prove that his fatherly 
love is most fully manifested in the darkness of 
his providence, since you have thus been most 
impressively taught, 

" The path of sorrow, and that path alone, 
Leads to the place where sorrow is unknown." 

The last instruction to which I shall refer, as 
enforced by the mysterious providence of God. 
is entire resignation to His will. This is the 
consummation of faith and hope. It is not a 
blind submission to power which cannot be con- 
trolled, nor a slavish acquiescence in events 
where resistance would only increase the evils 
felt or feared ; but it is an enlightened, a cheer- 
ful, an unreserved surrender of ourselves to God. 
Its only fitting language is that of inspiration : — 
•-'Whom have I in heaven but Thee, and there 
is none on earth I desire in comparison with 
Thee. My flesh and my heart faileth : but God 
is the strength of my heart, and my portion for 
ever.'- Now a virtue like this can only spring 
from a full and deep sense of our weakness, our 
ignorance, and our helplessness ; and these are 
lessons which are only thoroughly taught and 
learned by the sad and unlooked-for changes of 
God's providence. We are thus made to feel our 
own inability to help ourselves, that we may 



of god's providence. 



221 



cast all our cares upon God. in the blessed assur- 
ance that He cares for us. We are thus made 
to know that we know nothing, that we may 
commit our ways to Him who knoweth all 
things. We are placed in a state of change, 
that we may look in hope and trust to Him who 
changes not. We are called to suffering, that 
we may raise our thoughts to that world where 
nothing that disturbeth can ever enter. We are 
called to mourn, that we may enter in faith into 
that state where all tears shall be wiped from all 
eyes. We are called to part with loved and 
cherished friends, that we may be led to seek 
that heavenly Friend who will never fail. We 
are called to see that earth is a pilgrimage. — 
often a pilgrimage of toil and tears, — that we 
may prepare ourselves for a home. — a home in- 
deed, — a home of heavenly rest and everlasting 

joy. 

Such is a brief sketch of some of the reasons 
and uses of that darkness in which the hand of 
Providence is veiled. Do we not see, even in 
this, the gracious provisions of ineffable love r 
Those very circumstances, of which, in our folly 
and short-sightedness, we are willing to com- 
plain, are precisely those by which our highest 
and only permanent happiness is best promoted 
and secured. God loves us all better than we 



222 THE APPARENT DARKNESS 

love ourselves, and therefore consults for that 
higher welfare which we, in our ignorance and 
devotion to present objects, should otherwise 
forego. He knows that our spiritual improve- 
ment is a greater good than any present success ; 
that spiritual deadness or depravity is a greater 
evil than any present sorrow ; and will not allow 
us, therefore, to pursue our own wayward paths, 
uninstructed, unwarned, by his gracious admoni- 
tions. What parts of life, think you, shall we look 
back upon with the most pleasure, when life is 
drawing to a close, and we are about to enter in- 
to the unseen world ? Are they the hours of ex- 
ultation, success in worldly business, those which 
have been passed in idleness, in frivolity, in un- 
worthy self-indulgence, or in ostentatious dis- 
play ? Or are they those in which we have 
deeply felt our exposure to vicissitude ; our sol- 
emn accountability to our future Judge ; in which 
pride has been brought low, and the heart wrung 
with disappointment ? Many, I trust, who receive 
these words, have found, in a retrospect of their 
past lives, that what at the time were considered 
evils have proved on trial to have been indeed 
blessings in a sadder form. In this view, the 
administrations of Divine Providence are no 
longer dark and gloomy, the clouds disperse, the 
prospect brightens, and the path of life is radiant 



OF GOD'S PROVIDENCE. 



223 



with heavenly light. It is no longer a subject 
of deepest anxiety what the events of life may 
be, but how we improve by the allotments of 
Providence, assured that no good effort on our 
part is lost, and that all things shall work to- 
gether for our good, if we love and serve our 
God and meekly follow and earnestly improve 
the leadings of His guidance. 

But if, notwithstanding these explanations, 
difficulties on this subject yet remain, there is a 
solution in reserve which will explain them all. 
" What I do/' saith our Lord to Peter, " thou 
knowest not now : but thou shalt know here- 
after." Yes, the hour is coming, when all the 
dispensations of God, and all his gracious designs 
in regard to us, shall be fully made known ; 
when what we once thought severe, he will 
show us to have been kind ; when what we 
once thought was the blight of our happiness 
shall be seen to have been indeed the germ 
of ever-blooming, undecaying joy ; when what 
once seemed to us, in this the twilight of our 
existence, insuperable obstacles to our well-be- 
ing, shall vanish in the light of an everlasting 
day. Let, then, our murmurs be stilled. They 
are resolvable into our ignorance of the ways of 
God, — an ignorance, too, appointed in mercy. 
Let us feel, that it is not for such as we to em- 



224 



THE APPARENT DARKNESS 



brace, in all its extent, the scheme of God's 
providence, and that the ability of doing this 
with our present faculties would involve a deplo- 
rable narrowness and imperfection in the scheme 
itself. Let us be grateful, then, that enough is 
made known to us of some of its parts, to au- 
thorize us in believing that the whole is ordered 
in unspeakable wisdom and in parental love. 
Despair not, then, any whom He hath visited 
with affliction ! God's ways are graciously or- 
dered even to you. You can suffer nothing but 
what is intended, in his adorable goodness, for 
your benefit, — nothing but what, could the 
whole range of your future being be seen by you 
as it is by Him, you would appoint for your- 
selves. 

Yes, all just thought on this great theme de- 
pends on the point of vision in which we place 
ourselves. If we limit our views to the narrow 
confines which are between ourselves and our 
graves, and look upon life, so to speak, upon a 
level with it, and restrict our prospect to the 
near horizon that shuts down upon this little 
span of our earthly existence, it exhibits to us a 
scene of imperfection, irregularity, confusion, 
and disorder. It suggests to the mind a prob- 
lem, for which, I am free to confess, I have no 
solution. Human condition and human destiny 



of god's providence. 



225 



then seem not only an inexplicable, but a melan- 
choly and disheartening enigma. But if we 
view the things of time from a higher elevation 
than earth and time can afford; if we regard 
them as we may suppose they are regarded by 
superior intelligences ; if we view them, in any 
humble measure, as we may suppose they are 
viewed by God, as a part of his universal king- 
dom, which comprehends all time, all space, all 
creatures, all events, and all eternity ; — then 
seeming difficulties vanish away ; even the dark 
valley of death is cheered by rays of glory beam- 
ing from the eternal city, and the gloomiest pas- 
sages of this earthly pilgrimage are seen to be 
but parts of one grand, beautiful, admirably ad- 
justed, and perfect whole. 

And, in conclusion, let all learn to take just 
views of life, and of the great object of life. 
Let all learn to regard the events of Providence 
not merely in their present character and effects, 
but in reference to those purposes which they 
were intended, by a wisdom higher than ours, 
to fulfil. Let us remember, that in the longest 
reach of life on earth we can take but an infant's 
step towards our opening destinies. If the hand 
of God, then, seem to be veiled in darkness, if 
His dispensations be surrounded with mystery, 
let them teach us circumspection, watchfulness, 
15 



226 APPARENT DARKNESS OF GOD'S PROVIDENCE. 



dependence upon God, filial trust in Him, and 
perfect resignation to His will. Nothing, I repeat 
it, — and let this remark, at parting with the 
subject, rest upon all our minds, — nothing is 
of much importance to us but our moral and re- 
ligious characters. And if doubt still remain 
upon our spirits in regard to any of the dealings 
of God's providence, let us confidently refer our- 
selves to that better and brighter scene, where 
what baffles our inquiries now shall be fully ex- 
plained, and where what we know not now shall 
be fully known. 



SERMON XIV. 



THE GREAT SALVATION. 

HOW SHALL WE ESCAPE, IF WE NEGLECT SO GREAT SALVA- 

vation ? — Hebrews ii. 3. 

There are two thoughts of infinite concern- 
ment involved in this inquiry. One is, that 
there is a " great salvation " offered to our ac- 
ceptance, and the other is, that there is great 
danger in neglecting to accept it and avail our- 
selves of it. 

There is a " great salvation" offered to our ac- 
ceptance. But, it may be asked, do we need to 
be reminded of this ? Have we not heard of it 
all our lives long ? Has it not been reiterated 
a thousand times, in a thousand ways? Has 
it not been taught to us in infancy, and re- 
peated in every advanced step in life, and virtu- 
ally recognized, even when not repeated, in the 
whole history of the past ? Yes, undoubtedly, 



22S 



THE GREAT SALVATION. 



in regard to most of us, this is the fact, and it is 
on this very account, paradoxical as it may seem, 
that this u great salvation " needs to be presented 
to the mind anew. Our very familiarity with the 
subject, or rather with certain forms of expres- 
sion by which it is indicated, has served to dead- 
en its impression on the mind. It has become a 
trite theme, and therefore, like the familiar mur- 
mur of a stream, falls upon our ears without any 
distinct significance. For this very reason, then, 
it becomes necessary to quicken our " spiritual 
apprehension " of it, to place ourselves in the 
position of those to whom it was first preached, 
and to listen to it as to a voice from heaven, 
which is intended to call the dead to life. 

u So great salvation/' says the writer to the 
Hebrews. Why great ? To what degree, in 
what manner, for what reason, (c great " ? 

It is great in its object. This is none other 
than the human soul. Its object is not that 
aching clay which forms our bodies, and which, 
by a resistless attraction, is hastening down to 
mingle with its parent earth. It is not that " life 
in others' breath " which is called reputation. 
It is not that wealth which must soon leave us 
or be left. It is not that little round of duties, 
cares, interests, and enjoyments that fill up these 
transitory hours. But its object is the human 



THE GREAT SALVATION. 



229 



soul ; that principle which lives and thinks and 
wills and feels ; that makes a man a man, that 
connects him with God, and endows him with a 
life which, outlasting suns and stars and worlds 
and all material things, shall still live on, eternal 
as is God himself. And is not a salvation great 
that can save, rescue from perdition, so august a 
creation as the human soul ? 

And who is the author of this salvation ? 
It is God, the Infinite, the Eternal One. The 
Majest}^ of heaven and earth took pity on the 
ignorant and erring children of men, and sent 
to them this means of grace and this hope of 
glory. 

And by whom was this " great salvation " 
announced and perfected here on earth ? By 
the great and gracious Son of God, Jesus the 
sinless, Jesus the righteous, who lived and taught, 
and suffered and died, and rose from the grave 
and went to heaven, that he might render this 
great salvation efficacious to every earnest and 
devoted follower. 

And from what does this " great salvation " 
rescue us ? In the first place, from forlornness 
and utter despair under the trials, burdens, and 
sorrows of the present life. It does not, indeed, 
excuse us from the evils themselves. There 
would be no real salvation in this, since they are 



230 



THE GREAT SALVATION. 



a part of that trial and discipline which are in- 
tended to lead the soul to the salvation which it 
needs. But it does offer solace when all other 
comfort fails : light in the utter darkness of all 
things else ; sufficing help in the midst of spirit- 
ual decays : hope in despair. It enables us to 
bear what we cannot forego, to be resigned 
where we cannot choose but suffer, and to wrest, 
in our smugglings with the dark angel of sorrow, 
those priceless blessings which it is his preroga- 
tive, and his alone, to bestow. 

But the " great salvation " is not confined to 
this gracious ministry. It has an express and 
peculiar blessing in reserve, which ineffably tran- 
scends every other blessing that can be conferred 
upon the human soul, — I mean its redemption 
from sin, and from the power and consequences 
of sin. 

It rescues us from sin. It furnishes the only 
sufficient motive of true repentance and reform 
from a course and habit of sinning, in all its mul- 
tifold forms. Other influences may come in aid 
of this, — such, for example, as expediency : ref- 
erence to the opinions of others : a vague appre- 
hension of consequences ; that bodily pain which, 
like a sort of material conscience, always waits 
on excess. But these motives, even in all their 
united strength, are not, of themselves, sufficient 



* 



THE GREAT SALVATION. 



231 



to keep the sinner from his sin. as the observa- 
tion of every day shows. They may serve to 
dam up some of the streams of sin, or alter their 
direction, but they have no power to break up 
or dry up their head-springs in the soul, out of 
which they flow. And until this is done, noth- 
ing is done that is worth doing. And this can 
only be effectually done through the stern, the 
searching, the imperative, the all but resistless 
motives that are brought to bear on the sin-bound 
soul through the "great salvation/' 

Again, it rescues us. not only from the preva- 
lence, but from the power, of sin. The power 
of sin consists mainly in its deceitfulness, in its 
false shows, in its fair disguises, in its hollow 
professions, and in its lying arguments. Could 
we see, as we may suppose angels or higher in- 
telligences do, the whole history of any single 
sin from its first suggestion to the mind, through 
its progress in this world to its inevitable results 
in a retributory state, we should as soon make 
playthings of serpents' fangs, or slake our thirst 
at poisoned fountains, as touch the perilous thing. 
But from these sad, these melancholy delusions, 
we may find a safe resort in the "'great salva- 
tion." 

But this is only a partial view of the great 
boon. It possesses, not only the negative char- 



232 



THE GREAT SALVATION. 



acter of preserving us from great evils, but the 
positive one of conferring upon us unspeakable 
benefits, But I cannot here enlarge upon this 
aspect of the '-'great salvation.* 7 The tongue of 
an apostle has faltered on this theme, and the 
language of inspiration only faintly essays to 
indicate it by saying that "eye hath not seen, 
nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart 
of man. the things which God hath prepared for 
them that love him." 

But. " great'' as is this salvation, it is not yet 
" great " or attractive enough to secure it from 
the neglect of those to whom it is offered. This 
is implied in the inquiry of the text. — " How 
shall we escape, if we neglect so great salva- 
tion ? " And how is this neglect manifested ? 

In the hope of giving to the subject a practical 
turn, I shall attempt, very briefly, to answer this 
inquiry. And here, passing by in a single sen- 
tence, and that one of mingled pit}' and sorrow, 
the conduct of that unfortunate class of persons 
who live in a state of total unbelief in the " great 
salvation,' ' and are hastening onwards towards 
their dread account in the dark and sterile path 
of a desolate skepticism; — passing these, I ob- 
serve that those may emphatically be said to 
neglect the great salvation who treat it with an 
habitual and cold indifference. This, if not the 



THE GREAT SALVATION. 



233 



wickedest, is certainly the strangest state of 
mind that can prevail on the subject of religion. 
To see men living on in a world like this, amidst 
unnumbered cares, infirmities, sorrows : amidst 
conscious weakness and helplessness : liable con- 
stantly to dangers, seen and unseen ; exposed to 
death, and the consequences of death, whatever 
they may be, at every instant ; continually feel- 
ing in their own souls irrepressible hopes, aspira- 
tions, misgivings, and fears ; yet living on from 
childhood to old age in utter disregard of a light 
which purports, at least, to solve the mysteries 
of life ; of a revelation which claims, at least, to 
proceed from God ; of a doctrine, which, whether 
true or not, has altered the whole tone of human 
thought ; of a scheme of faith and duty, which, 
whether divine or not, has formed anew the 
whole system of human manners, and claims, 
whether rightfully or not, to be authenticated by 
the miraculous power of God in this world, and 
to be sanctioned by august hopes and awful fears 
in a world to come : — to see, I say, men, claim- 
ing to be rational beings, passing through long 
lives in a state of total indifference and uncon- 
cern of calls and claims like these, is an astound- 
ing spectacle. And yet it is one that is not with- 
out a parallel in common life around us, and is 
to be regarded as an emphatic and most melan- 



234 



THE GREAT SALVATION. 



choly example of one class of those who neg- 
lect the " great salvation." 

And there is another species of neglect of the 
" great salvation" which is more common and 
more deceitful. It essentially consists in a merely 
respectful attention to the claims of religion, 
without allowing it any especial influence over 
the heart and life. It is a state of mind very 
difficult to be described, since it consists rather 
of deficiences, short-comings, and negations, than 
of those palpable and salient points by which 
character is to be discriminated. It is far re- 
moved from that ignorant, open-mouthed scoff- 
ing to which I have alluded, nor is it charge- 
able with an entire indifference to the claims of 
Christianity ; but still it yields to them no more 
than a merely deferential attention. It admits 
that this religion is to be sustained, as an impor- 
tant part of the machinery of society, and as 
being, on the whole, productive of good results. 
It pays a respect to its institutions so far, at least, 
as is customary ; attends upon its public worship 
and teaching when it is entirely convenient and 
agreeable, and all the " skyey influences" are pro- 
pitious, but regards them, on the whole, rather 
as a matter of criticism than of spiritual culture, 
of taste rather than as one of the appointed means 
for the salvation of the soul. In a word, in re- 



THE GREAT SALVATION. 



235 



gard to the whole subject of religion, it is quite 
content to "dwell in decencies forever." But 
tell me, I pray you, is it in this way that the 
"great salvation" is to be treated? Was it to 
secure such results that Almighty God broke up 
the order of nature, that He might send an ac- 
credited mission to man ? Was it for such ends 
that Jesus came to preach the " great salvation " ? 
Was it for such a purpose that the martyrs won 
and wore their fiery crown ? Is this our re- 
sponse to the call of God, — " My son, give me 
thy heart " ? Is this the way to cut off right 
hands, and pluck out right eyes, in the service of 
our Master ? Decency ! Respect ! Patronizing 
attentions to the cause of Christ ! External ob- 
servances ! A civil bow to Religion as she passes ! 
A hollow courtesy when her claims are pre- 
sented ! The heart, the life, the conscience, the 
undying soul, — where are they ? Paying, prob- 
ably, tribute, slavish tribute, to some worldly 
custom, bowing with entire subserviency before 
some unblessed idol, carrying their only pure, 
their only soul-fraught homage to some earthly 
shrine ! Is this the choice, the pursuit, or is it 
the neglect and avoidance, of the great salvation ? 
Say ye. 

With one additional thought I shall leave the 
subject to your serious reflections. I have spoken 



236 



THE GREAT SALVATION. 



of some of the ways in which the u great salva- 
tion " is neglected. And now arises the inquiry 
of the text. — "How," — how shall we "es- 
cape/' — escape, if we neglect the "great salva- 
tion " ? " Escape " is the word. This implies 
danger, imminent danger. And what is the dan- 
ger ? It is plainly pointed out in the scheme of 
the " great salvation," and it is authenticated in 
the whole experience of this present life. Yes, 
its beginnings are here and now, — an accusing 
conscience ; self-loathing ; an awful sense of 
guilt ; a fearful looking-for of judgment ; a de- 
spairing sense of alienation from God, and Christ, 
and all good beings ; in a word, all, every thing, 
even in the present life, that is to be feared, 
shunned, and abhorred. But all this, if we believe 
our Master, is but the first faint shadow of hor- 
rors to come. But here all utterance falters and 
fails. I can only refer you to the express lan- 
guage of the Saviour. " Outer darkness from 
the presence of the Lord" ; "weeping, wailing, 
and gnashing of teeth " ; "the worm that dieth 
not"; "the unquenchable fire"; — such is the 
awful imagery that our Saviour employs on this 
subject, and we must interpret what it means, if 
we would ascertain the real danger of neglecting 
his "great salvation." 



SERMON 



* 

THE STILL, SMALL VOICE, 

AND AFTER THE FIRE A STILL, SMALL VOICE. AND IT WAS 
SO, WHEN ELIJAH HEARD IT, THAT HE WRAPPED HIS FACE 

in his mantle. — 1 Kings xix. 12,13. 

When the prophet Elijah, heart-sick of the 
idolatry and perverseness of his people, and flee- 
ing from the wrath of Jezebel, took refuge in the 
desert of Arabia, he was directed, by the word 
of the Lord, to " go forth and stand upon Mount 
Horeb, before the Lord.' 5 And behold, says the 
record, " the Lord passed by, and a great and 
strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in 
pieces the rocks before the Lord ; but the Lord 
was not in the wind : and after the wind an 
earthquake ; but the Lord was not in the earth- 
quake : and after the earthquake a fire ; but the 
Lord was not in the fire : and after the fire a 
still, small voice. And it was so. when Elijah 



238 



THE STILL, SMALL VOICE. 



heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, 
and went out, and stood in the entering in of the 
cave." He could witness, unmoved, the over- 
mastering violence of the wind, the earthquake, 
and the fire, but in the " still, small voice " he 
recognized the real presence of God. He then 
veiled his face, since upon the intolerable glory 
of this presence none can look and live. 

The design of this striking symbol was, proba- 
bly, to convey a gentle reproof to the prophet for 
his excessive zeal. He was a man of ardent and 
impetuous character, as his whole history shows, 
was very " jealous," as he himself says, for the 
supreme honor of the Lord of Hosts, and would 
gladly have converted all his people from their 
perverse idolatry by coercion, violence, and tu- 
multuous measures, — by the wind, fire, and 
earthquake of a headlong zeal. But in the vision 
that God made to pass before the prophet, he 
reproved this temper of mind. He there strik- 
ingly emblemed the fact, that his presence was 
even more fully manifested in the noiseless oper- 
ations of his power than in the visible and tre- 
mendous displays of it ; that while the wind, the 
earthquake, and the fire are made sometimes the 
resistless ministers of his will in the physical 
world, he yet rules the moral world, and tri- 
umphs over human spirits with a more potent 



THE STILL, SMALL VOICE. 



239 



energy, in that " still, small voice " which speaks 
to the hearts and consciences of men, and is only, 
indeed, effectually heard in the hush and deep 
silence of all things else. 

I propose now to advert to some of the em- 
phatic utterances of that same " still, small voice," 
in which God is yet continually speaking to the 
souls of men, and the conscience alone hears, 
and then to ascertain our duty in reference to 
this mode of Divine instruction. 

And, first, God is speaking to his intelligent 
offspring in this " still, small voice " in all the 
works of his hand, and in all the operations of 
nature. " The heavens," says the Psalmist, 
" declare the glory of God, and the firmament 
showeth his handiwork. Day unto day uttereth 
speech, and night unto night showeth knowl- 
edge." But it is a voiceless language. It is an 
unspoken revelation. The golden chariot of the 
sun goes ever on its accustomed way, but rolls 
noiselessly on. The moon and planets and the 
starry host pursue their accustomed paths ; but it 
is in still and quiet majesty. The seasons keep 
their appointed rounds, and the earth clothes 
herself in beauty, and lays aside again her tran- 
sitory honors; but it is in " solemn silence all." 
But this silence is full of significance. It is in 
itself sublime, and it really speaks to the thought- 



240 



THE STILL, SMALL VOICE. 



ful spirit with an emphasis more deep and pene- 
trating than the voice of many thunders. It is 
scarcely lost upon any. Even those who have 
no ear or heart for the outright spoken word of 
God. yet are seen to pause amidst the loveliness 
and sublimity of Nature, and, overpowered for 
the time by a mixed sentiment of admiration 
and awe, to listen reverently to her " still, small 
voice," and hearing, to adore. 

Again, God often speaks in a still, small voice 
to the serious and thoughtful mind in the events 
and circumstances of life. These, indeed, ordi- 
narily, and to the great mass of men, seem to 
have little further object or use than to fill up, 
with an interest more or less intense, the passing 
hour, and to have little significance beyond 
themselves. They are but the working materi- 
als of life. But in the Christian's view, all these 
are parts and means of heavenly discipline, and 
are fraught with meanings and uses beyond their 
outward expression and present use. And there 
are some, especially, in which the Divine pres- 
ence appears to be peculiarly manifested. These, 
also, like the great changes of the material world, 
come often silently on, and it is only when the 
broad, naked, absolute fact stands out in its un- 
mitigated reality, that even the serious and con- 
templative are seen to bow down before it, as a 



THE STILL, SMALL VOICE. 



241 



manifestation of the Divine presence, like the 
prophet before the " still, small voice," and 
adore. 

Thus, for example, in all the favorable turns 
of our affairs, — in the success that attends good 
efforts, in the restoration of ourselves and friends 
to health after sickness, in the long wished-for 
return of the absent, — the reverent spirit looks 
beyond the palpable fact, beyond the outward 
event to the Dispenser of our lot, beyond the 
gift to the Giver ; and above all the congratu- 
lations of friends, and the favoring noises that 
wait upon success, he hears the " still, small 
voice " that reminds him of the love and gra- 
cious goodness of his God. 

So, too, again, in the sadder changes of life, 
he recognizes the "still, small voice," since there 
again shows forth the present Deity. In the 
gloom of disappointed hopes and plans he hears 
it; it speaks to him continually in the long in- 
terval of absence from friends ; it is heard in the 
intervals of pain ; it speaks comfort to the suffer- 
er in sickness ; it is the only sufficient solace in 
the hour of final bereavement, and is more than 
ever present, whispering words of hope and sus- 
taining peace, in the dark conflicts of the dying 
hour. 

But there are other voices speaking to the soul 
16 



242 



THE STILL, S3IALL VOICE. 



of man of the present Deity, stiller, but. it may 
be, more emphatic, than these. They are of a 
kind difficult to be described, since they are very 
fleeting, are often confused by the din of exter- 
nal noises, and are often wholly disregarded in 
the hot pursuit of merely earthly objects. Still, 
if I shall be so happy as to speak to the con- 
sciousness of any, in an attempt to describe some 
of them, the effort will be well repaid. 

I begin by observing, that there are periods in 
the lives of most persons, when, they scarcely 
know how or why, an unwonted seriousness 
pervades the mind ; when the false and decep- 
tive shows of life fall off : when its usually en- 
grossing interests fade into a temporary oblivion : 
when, in the language of an early martyr of the 
Church, "nothing seems real that is seen": and 
when the awful reality of things unseen appears 
to be a reality indeed. It then occurs to us, 
how purposeless our lives are, where infinite re- 
sults are to be won or lost ; how prodigal we are 
in the waste of the golden sands of time, which 
are the seeds of eternal ages : how careless we 
are of opportunities that should be held conse- 
crate to spiritual improvement : how accessible 
we are to the passing trifle of the hour, and how 
deaf to its solemn admonitions ; how engrossed 
we are by any transient excitement, and how cold 



THE STILL, SMALL VOICE. 



243 



to the invitations of the Gospel ; how much bet- 
ter we love many of our fellow-sinners than we 
love the pure and holy Jesus ; how much we 
prefer time before eternity, earth to heaven, and 
man to God. Then, too, comes up before us, 
unrolled, as it were, by the hand of an accusing 
angel, the record of past follies, negligences, 
omissions, " secret and presumptuous sins," and 
we have glimpses of the reach and depth of that 
iniquity that nothing but a Gospel pardon can 
reach. And then, too, we realize, as we never 
otherwise do or can, how much of life is already 
gone, how little remains, and that death, judg- 
ment, retribution, are near, — alas ! we know 
not how near ; and we feel, with a conscience- 
pang that mocks all utterance, how little, how 
criminally little, we are prepared to meet the 
sure and all-searching test. All these are " still, 
small voices," which are uttered to the con- 
sciences of men, which are heard down in the 
depths of the soul, which are of God and 
lead to God, and before which, as before His 
visible presence, we should veil our faces and 
adore. 

I have said, that thoughts and reflections like 
these occur to most persons. Perhaps I may ex- 
tend the remark, and say, that they occur to all. 
I have no doubt that they are more general than 



244 THE STILL, SMALL VOICE. 

I 

is, ordinarily supposed. They shun the public 
gaze. Men do not like to speak of them to 
others. It is obvious that such disclosures, if 
known, would do little to build up one's personal 
popularity. The fangs of enemies are always 
sharpened and envenomed to fasten upon such 
gratuitous developments, and to magnify, and dis- 
tort, and pervert them. Men do not feel willing, 
therefore, to volunteer confessions which, they 
are well assured beforehand, will be misunder- 
stood and misused, and made to pamper to a love 
of scandal and a belittling of the reputation of 
the reputable, from which no community, — aw- 
ful and horrid as the sin is, — no community is 
exempt. There is not a man in ten thousand 
who would dare to say, what one of the most 
amiable men and most sound and delightful mor- 
alists of modern times has said, in substance, - — 
that " I can easily excuse my enemies for speak- 
ing badly of me, since, if they knew me half as 
well as I know myself, they would speak still 
worse." Hence there is much more self-con- 
demning, I do not say truly repentant, but self- 
condemning, feeling among men than outward- 
ly appears. The apparently frivolous are not so 
wholly frivolous as they appear. If you could 
follow them to their pillows, after the gayest 
scene, if you could look into their souls, you 



THE STILL, SMALL VOICE. 



245 



would often find a sad unrest there, which 
betokens any thing rather than the approval of 
conscience. So, too, if you could go with 
the inveterate worldling to his retirements. — 
with him who, being convinced that he can- 
not serve God and mammon, has practically 
determined to serve, at any rate, the latter, — 
who has made wealth his god, and who, the 
decencies of life preserved, has determined " to 
follow him," — who looks upon his fellow- 
creatures only as materials who are convertible 
to his selfish uses, and who are individually 
valuable to him only as they may be made to 
subserve his purposes, — who goes on through 
the transactions of the day with a single refer- 
ence to his own aggrandizement, and who re- 
turns at night to lie down and dream of bargains 
and gainful " operations," and who wakes in the 
morning, before consciousness fully returns, to 
think how he shall best turn the day to pe- 
cuniary profit, and who enters on that and on 
every succeeding day that God shall give him 
with the same and only object ; whose ser- 
vice, in fine, of the idol he has chosen is a model 
and a rule of that we all should pay to the true 
God, — he, I say, if you can imagine a case like 
this, is not so utterly absorbed as he appears : his 
sinful worship is not without interruptions, his 



246 



THE STILL. SMALL VOICE. 



apparently whole-souled devotion not without its 
secret misgivings. There are times when even 
he feels that he is not fulfilling the true objects 
for which the real God brought him into this life ; 
that he is perverting the true ends of his facul- 
ties ; that he is making no provision for the wel- 
fare of that soul which, after all. he cannot but 
feel, at times, is of more importance than the 
acquisition of all the world ; and that, at any 
rate, he is soon to die and leave to others, who, 
perhaps with ill-concealed impatience, are wait- 
ing the event, that heap of wealth which he 
has sold his spiritual welfare to procure. Yes. 
even he. in his soberer moments, feels all this. 
And even he, at times, thus hears this " still, 
small voice n of conscience speaking in his in- 
ward soul, and cannot but recognize in it a voice 
divine, and one prophetical of sad results. But 
the capacity of the ear to hear depends, un- 
doubtedly, in most cases, greatly on the state of 
the recipient mind. This u still, small voice, 31 
without doubt, is often lost upon the foreclosed 
and preoccupied spirit. Its quiet though em- 
phatic appeal is often disregarded amidst the 
more importunate claims of active and busy 
life. But the truly thoughtful and serious hear 
it everywhere, — not only in the wind, in the 
earthquake, and the fire, but in all the quiet as- 



THE STILL, SMALL VOICE. 



247 



pects of nature, in all the changes of time, in all 
the events of life. It speaks to them from every 
scene they witness ; it speaks to them from the 
intercourse of domestic life : it speaks to them 
from the instructions of the pulpit ; it speaks to 
them from the book they are reading : and it 
speaks to them, and that, too. often with most 
solemn impressiveness, in the intervals of broken 
rest at night : it speaks to them, in fine, from all 
things, and everywhere. 

Thus it is, my friends, that God is speaking 
to us all " in a still, small voice. " What, then, is 
our duty, in respect to it ? Shall it speak to us 
in vain ? Shall it be lost on closed ears ? Shall 
its solemn emphasis be drowned amidst the 
noise and tumult of present interests ? When 
the prophet heard it, he veiled his face in token 
of reverence, and recognized the Divine presence 
therein more fully than in the wind, the earth- 
quake, and in the fire. So, too, is it in every 
age. The serious and contemplative spirit finds 
in its still, solemn, self-communing hours, that 
its access to God is nearest, His influence most 
tenderly felt. Let, then, such hours be carefully 
observed. Let them be faithfully improved. 
Let their lessons be laid closely to heart. Let 
them be held consecrate to spiritual improve- 
ment, Let them be given wholly to God ; for 



•248 



THE STILL, SMALL VOICE. 



then it is that He condescends especially to 
manifest himself to us. 

And now, with one suggestion more, I dismiss 
the subject. These "still, small voices." which 
I have thus imperfectly endeavoured to interpret, 
are thus to be considered as direct intimations 
from on high of our duty and true destination, 
which we cannot innocently disregard. They 
make a part, and perhaps the most important 
part, of God's heavenly instruction. He is thus 
manifesting Himself to us, that we may turn to 
Him. In a w^ord, they are to be regarded as 
nothing else or less than the suggestions of His 
good Spirit, addressed directly to our souls, 
warning, inviting, beseeching us, as it were, to 
"acquaint ourselves with Him and be at peace."' 
This is the only philosophical, nay, it is the on- 
ly religious, account that can be given of them. 
How, then, have they been improved ? They 
have come to us from all the fair and grand as- 
pects of God's material world. We have heard 
them from earth, sea, and skies, and the winds 
have been made vocal with their solemn call. 
We have heard them amidst the changing light 
of day, and yet more emphatically in the still 
and solemn watches of the night. They have 
been borne to us in all the varied vicissitudes of 
events, both of joy and sorrow, through which 



THE STILL, SMALL VOICE. 



249 



we have passed. They have spoken plainly and 
imperatively to our consciences, even amidst the 
frivolous and over-engrossing pursuits of life. 
And how, then, have they been used ? Have 
they been reverently listened to, observed, im- 
proved ? Have we, like the prophet, veiled our 
faces before them, in token of reverence, as 
before the present Deity ? Or have they been 
disregarded, neglected, slighted, spurned ? The 
question is one of fearful moment to us all ; 
since, in the same degree, and just so often, as 
this u still, small voice " has been lost upon our 
unwilling ears, in that same degree, and just so 
often, have we added to that sad record of 
wasted opportunities and of slighted means of 
grace, to which we must all be held to answer. 



S E R M O X 



XVI. 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



The Christian doctrine of the efficacy of prayer 
in procuring the favor and help of Almighty God. 
was one which lay very near the hearts of our 
ancestors. It was with them, for support and 
guidance, in all their trials and distresses in 
placing the foundations of civil authority and 
social order in this then ne w world : and was as 
" a wall of fire *' around them, amidst a thousand 
evils felt and feared in their daily walk. It has 
not become wholly obsolete in this more pros- 
perous, but certainly less devotedly religious 
period. And it is matter of congratulation, that 
it is ordinarily, and has been in an especial 
manner, on a recent occasion, recognized in the 
councils of the government under which we live. 
Long may it be thus recognized : and distant, 
far distant, be the day when it shall, in any 
measure, lose its hold upon the minds either of 
the rulers or the people. 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



251 



But still it is sufficiently obvious that this 
doctrine of the efficacy of prayer is not always, 
perhaps not generally, well understood ; that it is 
often mingled with much doubt in the minds of 
those who professedly receive it ; and that some- 
times it is referred to in conversation, and even 
in some few of our public prints, we regret to 
say, in a tone of flippant remark, which, as a mat- 
ter of taste merely, and in decent respect to other 
minds, might well be spared ; and which cer- 
tainly would be spared, were there a better un- 
derstanding of the subject, and a deeper sense of 
its importance. 

For w^hat doctrine of our religion is important 
if this be not ? If prayer have no efficacy in 
procuring God's favor, why do we pray ? Why 
do we assemble ourselves together on ordinary, 
or on extraordinary occasions, in our houses of 
worship, to go through, even so imperfectly as 
we do, our religious exercises there ? What a 
dead, empty, and worse than unmeaning form is 
prayer, as it respects ourselves ! What an im- 
pious mockery as it respects our God ! Well 
might the scoffer, the skeptic, the half or no be- 
liever, in beholding our religious offerings, adopt 
the cutting irony of the prophet towards the 
idolaters of Baal, and say to us poor, deluded 
worshippers, — "Cry aloud: for he is a God; 



252 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



either he is talking or pursuing, or he is in a 
journey, or peradventure he sleepeth and must 
be awaked," since there is none to answer, and 
none who regardeth our prayers. 

And what, if our petitions are unheard and 
unanswered in heaven, what is our reliance, 
what our hope, in the gloomy passages of life, 
when friends sicken or die around us, or we our- 
selves are overwhelmed by infirmity and distress, 
or are brought to the grave's brink, and there is 
no longer support or comfort on the earth ? Alas ! 
there is none. The dark and fearful way is be- 
fore us, and we must pursue it alone, u with no 
eye to pity, and no hand to save." Does not the 
consciousness of many respond to our words, 
when we say, that there is a privilege in the 
" prayer of faith," in the communion of the trust- 
ing heart with God, whose preciousness no lan- 
guage can describe ; which is more and better 
than any or every earthly blessing, and which is 
sufficient to strengthen and support us in the 
loss of them all ? 

In the remarks which will follow, we shall at- 
tempt to meet and answer those objections against 
the Christian doctrine of the efficacy of prayer 
which are thought to be most valid and impor- 
tant. The affirmative side of the question, or 
those proofs and arguments on which a positive 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



253 



belief of the doctrine is based, may claim atten- 
tion hereafter. Our present design, and we re- 
peat it, because we wish it to be kept distinctly 
in view, is to answer the prominent objections 
which are thought to lie against the doctrine. 
In doing this, we shall not aim at originality. 
Our object is far higher. It is to enstamp on 
other minds those convictions respecting this 
subject which are inexpressibly dear to our- 
selves, and we shall freely and gladly employ for 
this purpose the best resources at our command. 

One of the objections which is urged against 
the efficacy of prayer, and one which, it would 
seem, from the positive and triumphant air with 
which it is urged, is considered as quite decisive, 
is derived from the immutability of the laws of 
nature, as they are called ; or that connected 
series of facts or events denominated cause and 
effect, by which the material universe is gov- 
erned. It is said that these causes and effects 
are permanent, that they are modes of operation 
by which the order and harmony of the world 
around us is preserved, and that it is most un- 
philosophical to think that this settled order can 
be broken in upon in answer to our prayers. We 
believe this to be a full and fair statement of the 
objection. 

And now what is its value, in opposition to 



254 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



the Christian doctrine of the efficacy of prayer ? 
Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. And for 
this reason. All that is or can be claimed for the 
permanency of the physical laws of the universe 
may be granted, and yet the doctrine of the effi- 
cacy of prayer remain untouched. The con- 
stancy of these laws is admitted. It is true, that, 
in the visible creation, certain effects do invaria- 
bly follow certain causes. They have never 
been known to fail, except by a miraculous in- 
terposition of the Deity. Night follows day, and 
day night. The seasons preserve their distinct 
periods of succession. Cold chills, and fire burns. 
Heavy bodies, if unimpeded, fall to the earth. 
Water seeks a level. Food nourishes, and the 
want of it kills. These and many other causes 
and effects are permanent. We may not hope to 
interrupt or suspend their operation by our pray- 
ers. No petitions will avail to set them aside. 
It were superstition, or fanaticism, or madness, 
to expect, by the most fervent prayers of all the 
holy spirits who are or who have been on the 
earth, to expect to interfere with this permanent 
order of the physical world. And yet, notwith- 
standing all this, we hold in an undoubting faith 
the doctrine of the efficacy of our prayers, or, to 
use the language of another, of " an influence 
from above, as diversified and unceasing as are 
the requests from below." 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



255 



But is there nothing irreconcilable between the 
two doctrines ? We answer, No. And here it is 
that the objection falls pointless to the ground. 
For if it can be shown, or rendered probable, 
that a provision is made for an answer to our 
prayers, above and beyond that settled arrange- 
ment of causes and effects which we see around 
us, — in other words, that our prayers may have 
an efficacy without interfering with this arrange- 
ment, — then it is obvious that an objection drawn 
from the permanency of this arrangement is 
nothing worth. 

Now that such an arrangement may exist is 
plain from the fact that we can trace the chain 
of causes and effects only to a certain distance, 
and this a very short one. We may see the con- 
nection of one event with another, or rather, to 
speak more truly and philosophically, we may see 
that one event regularly succeeds another, and 
this a third, and this, it may be, a fourth : but 
we soon arrive at a point beyond which noth- 
ing further is or can be known. Ail our investi- 
gations and all our philosophy end here. But 
not so the series of events. The chain of causes 
and effects, as we call them, is continued on, and 
on, beyond this point, through unknown grada- 
tions, far, far beyond all human ken, until it 
reaches the cause of causes, the Great First 



256 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



Cause. What prevents, then, that God may, by 
an express act of His omnipotent power, or by 
putting in operation certain unknown agents, or 
by giving a peculiar direction to some of these 
unknown but not less real causes, produce a cer- 
tain result in answer to our prayers ? And is it 
not plain, further, that this may be done, not only 
by not interfering with, or interrupting, or sus- 
pending the permanency of known causes and 
effects, but by using these very causes and effects 
as a part of His appointed means in producing 
this result ? The impulse by which an event is 
finally made to take place, in answer to prayer, 
may be given, not at that part of the series which 
is within our observation, where such an inter- 
ference would be miraculous, but at that part of 
the series which is without and beyond our ob- 
servation, without interfering with the perma- 
nency of nature, as it is called, in the slightest 
degree. It is thus a special providence may be 
established for the peculiar wants of every thing 
that lives, from the seraph who bows before the 
unveiled glories of the throne of God, down to 
the meanest reptile ; and thus it is that provision 
may be made for an answer to every prayer. It is 
thus we may reconcile our belief of this doctrine 
with the permanency of nature. It is thus our 
faith and our philosophy go hand in hand. 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 257 

It may be worth while to illustrate these rea- 
sonings by an example ; and we will take one 
from the event which led our thoughts particu- 
larly to this subject. Is there any objection to 
the efficacy of prayer for health, or salvation from 
disease, to be founded on the fact that the opera- 
tions of nature are fixed and uniform ? Certainly 
not, we apprehend, and for the precise reason 
above stated. The knowledge of those causes 
on which health and sickness depend is very lim- 
ited. Those who have made this subject a study 
will tell you, that all their skill is summed up in 
a knowledge of some facts, fewer or more, but 
at the greatest extent very limited, which are 
ordinarily found in connection with each other, 
and which, as has been repeatedly said, are hence 
called cause and effect. He will further tell you, 
if he is an intelligent man, that, above and be- 
yond all these, there are agencies at work, of 
which he knows nothing ; and that of the ulti- 
mate or original cause of sickness or death he is 
wholly ignorant. Some of the last steps or 
stages of the process, which he calls proximate 
causes, he may know or think he knows, but 
nothing beyond. In respect, for instance, to that 
pestilence, to avert which our people, and, as we 
think, very properly, have been recently called 
together to unite their prayers, what is known. 

17 



258 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



we do not say merely of its remote causes, but of 
its proximate or immediate causes ? Certain cir- 
cumstances, it seems, have been satisfactorily as- 
certained to predispose to the reception of it ; but 
of the efficient, the producing cause, and of the 
methods of its propagation, there is great contro- 
versy, at least, even among those who profess to 
know the most concerning it. Now, and this 
is the point on which we would fasten attention, 
is there not room enough, amidst these unknown 
causes of the pestilence, for God to interpose His 
helping and saving hand, without interfering 
with the permanency of the known laws of na- 
ture ? Suppose these causes to be certain changes, 
taints, or miasms in the atmosphere. They are 
not palpable. They are not visible. They can- 
not be analyzed. They defy the chemist's skill. 
Might they not be altered, arrested, removed, by 
our God, and this, too, if He pleased, in answer 
to our prayers, without interfering with the 
known laws of nature ? Nay, might not this be 
done, as was before suggested, by the agency of 
these very laws, — by causing any one of the ele- 
ments to act as an antagonist principle, or as an 
antidote to this poisonous influence which per- 
vades them, — and this without our knowing that 
this beneficial agency was thus exerted, except 
from its beneficial effects ? Is there not a vast 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



259 



variety of atmospherical influences thus daily put 
in motion ? Could we desire a better example 
to show, may we not now call it. the utter fu- 
tility of the objection against the efficacy of 
prayer which is derived from the alleged perma- 
nency of nature ? And do we not see that it is 
entirely resolvable into narrow views, on the part 
of the objector, of the providence of God. and 
that the Christian doctrine of the efficacy of 
prayer is, in fact, coincident with the highest and 
best philosophy ? 

We think we may consider this answer to the 
objection before us ample and complete. But as 
it may not strike other minds as it does ours, Ave 
proceed to offer, as briefly as possible, another 
which we deem equally decisive. It cannot have 
escaped the observation of any who have given 
any attention to the subject, that there are two 
great classes of events, both in the physical and 
moral world, which are distinguishable and clear- 
ly marked. In the first place, there are those 
which occur according to a known and estab- 
lished order, which obey what are called the per- 
manent laws of nature, — those very laws which 
are thought to be infringed upon by the doctrine 
under remark. But beside events which thus 
regularly follow in succession, there is another 
class which appear to obey no prescribed law, and 



260 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



to follow no regular order in their occurrence. 
These are what men call accidents, fortuitous 
events, the effects of chance or fortune. But 
what do they mean by these terms ? Is it any 
thing but this, that they do not, like the events 
above referred to, obey any known rule, — that 
is, any rule known to them ? But no one who 
has any just views of a superintending God can 
believe they take place without His knowledge 
and supervision ; that, unlike all other events, they 
are not finally to be traced to Him. Accidents 
though we call them, and trifling though they 
may be in themselves, they are yet continually 
deciding the most momentous interests. All his- 
tory is full of examples. Battles are won or lost, 
thrones set up or overturned, dynasties founded 
or destroyed, the greatest discoveries made or 
missed, by circumstances as apparently fortui- 
tous, and sometimes, also, of as little intrinsic 
importance, as the turning of a die. He, too, 
who will look back upon the history of his past 
life, or of the past year, will find that his fortunes 
have often turned on similar occurrences. Can 
we hesitate to admit, then, for a moment, that 
events like these are under the supervision and 
direction of Him in whom we live and have our 
being? If so, it is obvious — and here, again, 
we would ask the especial attention of the reader 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 261 

— that these may be directed, in answer to our 
prayers, without infringing or interrupting any 
of the known laws of nature, since they are 
wholly independent of their control. And, as 
they are thus directly to be ascribed to God, and 
are thus under His direct agency, and do thus 
seriously affect the destinies of men, is it ir- 
rational to infer, that it is by means of these 
chances or accidents, as we call them, that God 
prepares an especial moral discipline for every 
individual who lives ? However this may be, it 
is plainly evident, and this is all we are now 
concerned to maintain, that He may thus an- 
swer the prayers of every individual, without at 
all deviating from the established course of na- 
ture. " Herein,*' says a very able and excellent 
writer, "especially is manifested the perfection 
of the Divine wisdom, that the most surprising 
conjunctions of events are brought about by the 
simplest means, and in a manner that is perfectly 
in harmony with the ordinary course of human 
affairs. This is, in fact, the great miracle of 
Providence, — that no miracles are needed to ac- 
complish its purposes." * 

Enough, and probably more than enough, at- 
tention has been given to this alleged objection ; 
but we have another reply, which to us seems, 



Natural History of Enthusiasm, Section vi. 



262 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



in itself, so decisive, that it may be proper to 
suggest it before leaving the subject. It is 
founded on the well-known fact, that thoughts 
and suggestions are continually rising in the 
mind, which observe no known law, which come 
and depart wholly independently of our volitions, 
and whose origin, character, and continuance are 
all beyond our comprehension. There is no part, 
perhaps, of that dark and yet unexplored subject, 
the human mind, which baffles inquiry more than 
those laws of association by which its different 
thoughts, feelings, or states are connected to- 
gether. It is a well-known fact, too, that some 
of the fairest and most splendid creations of ge- 
nius, and some of the greatest discoveries in 
every department of human knowledge, have 
been in this way originally suggested. Men call 
this fortuitous, accidental ; by which they must 
mean, if they mean any thing, as we have al- 
ready said, that these elementary suggestions or 
hints come from some unknown cause. But the 
cause, though unknown to them, cannot be un- 
known to God. May He not, then, — and this, 
again, is the precise point to be attended to, — 
may He not use these unknown methods of 
operating upon the human mind, to bring about 
any result which to Him seemeth good ? and this, 
too, without interfering with, or suspending, for 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



263 



an instant, any of the known or permanent laws 
of nature ? Might He not thus send an answer 
of acceptance, or gracious return, to any prayer ? 
Might He not, to take an example before alluded 
to, send a thought or suggestion into any mind, 
which, being arrested and dwelt upon by the in- 
dividual, would lead to a precise knowledge, and 
furnish a complete antidote or cure, of that pesti- 
lence which is " walking in darkness" in the 
midst of us ? In what other way, or by what 
other agency, to adduce one instance out of 
many, was the great discovery of vaccination 
originated and carried out into its beneficent re- 
sults ? Let the atheist, if he please, call it acci- 
dent ; but he who believes in the superintending 
care of God will regard it as His gracious work. 
Here, then, is one more method by which the 
" Hearer of prayer " may give an express answer 
to our petition, not only without interfering, in 
the slightest degree, with the known and per- 
manent laws of His universe, but even through 
the ministry of those very laws. And as 
the whole weight of the objection before us 
rests upon the assumption that this cannot be 
done, the inference seems to be inevitable, that 
the objection is altogether worthless. 

We have contented ourselves, thus far, with 
showing that God may send answers of accept- 



264 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



ance to our prayers without interfering with the 
known laws of nature. This is sufficient for our 
present purpose. It fully meets the objection 
before us. But we might, if it were deemed 
necessary, go further, and assert that it is highly 
probable that He does thus act by an agency in- 
dependently of these general laws. These are 
necessary to the well-being of men, that they 
may be enabled to act in reference to the future 
with decisive foresight and calculation. This is 
their final cause or end. But there is no reason 
for supposing that the same system of general 
laws continues beyond the point where this final 
cause or end terminates. If, on the contrary, it 
be probable that there are many cases in which 
the gracious purpose of God in regard to man 
may be effected without this agency of gen- 
eral laws, in the sphere beyond man's obser- 
vation, then it is in the same degree probable 
that He will thus act. Now, in point of fact, 
this probability is very strong. The blind and 
unbending effect of general laws may, in a great 
variety of particular instances, produce more evil 
than good. Indeed, in the great variety and com- 
plexity of events in human life it must be so. 
And as we cannot suppose that the final results 
of any act of God will be evil, in all these cases 
supposed, it is highly probable that He will thus 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



265 



act independently of the known and obvious 
laws of creation, to counteract that overbalance 
of evil which would result from the uncontrolled 
effect of these general laws. 

We proceed now to advert to some other lead- 
ing objections against the efficacy of prayer 
which are sometimes thought to be of impor- 
tance. But as they are carefully examined in 
the leading treatises on this subject, Ave shall 
spare ourselves much detail. As the former ob- 
jection was derived from the permanency of the 
laws of creation, so these are derived from the 
inherent perfections of the Creator. Thus, God, 
it is said, is infinitely raise, and knows better than 
we do ourselves what we really need, and that 
prayer, therefore, in this point of view, must be 
useless. The simple answer to this is, that it is 
no object of prayer to give information to the 
omniscient God. And as this is not the efficacy 
which is claimed for prayer, it appears to be very 
irrelevant to deny such an efficacy. 

Again, it is said, God is unchangeable, and 
that therefore it is a mere presumption to imag- 
ine that we may prevail upon Him by our impor- 
tunities. The reply is, that we do not attempt 
or expect to make any change in the essential 
character of God by our prayers. And if it be 
asked what we do expect, we reply, it is not un- 



266 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



reasonable to believe, that, if we make a change 
in our conduct and relations towards Him^ He 
will make a change in His treatment of us. It 
is no part of our present business, as we have 
said, to show the grounds of our belief in the 
efficacy of prayer, but we may just intimate 
here, that, if it be necessarily fit and proper that 
dependent beings should humbly seek of God 
the blessings they constantly need, then it is 
necessarily fit and proper that God should regard 
these requests, and that He should make a differ- 
ence, in His treatment, between those who make 
these requests, and those who make them not* 
If this be a mark of changeableness in the Deity, 
then every distinction that He does or will make 
in this world or in the next, between those who 
comply with the conditions on which His favor 
is promised, and those who do not, is also a mark 
of changeableness. The fallacy of the objection 
lies in confounding the absolute perfections of 
God, considered as the inherent principles of His 
nature, and the exercise of those perfections con- 
sidered in reference to us as our moral Governor. 
His unchangeableness, as it respects us, con- 
sists, not in acting towards us always in the same 
manner, whatever be our conduct towards Him, 
but in doing always what is right, and, of course, 
in varying His treatment of His children and 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



267 



subjects according to their desert. If, then, the 
due offering of prayer to God makes an alteration 
in the case of the suppliant, as, if it be a fulfil- 
ment of an absolute duty, made known both by 
reason and Scripture, it necessarily must, then, 
as has been well argued, His disregard of prayer 
would be an instance of changeableness in Him, 
and not His hearing and answering it. In this 
case, as in that just referred to, we do not expect 
to influence, by any prayer of ours, the essential 
character of God, but we are encouraged, both 
by reason and Scripture, to hope, that, by making 
a change in our qualifications, we may make a 
change in His treatment of us. 

How very unimportant this objection is will 
further appear by applying the same mode of 
reasoning to any other moral or religious duty, 
which is considered a means of procuring Divine 
favor. You restrain prayer before God, because 
He is essentially unchangeable in His character, 
and no solicitations or homage of yours can influ- 
ence Him. Why do you not extend your reason- 
ings to every other duty ? Let us apply it, by 
way of illustration, to that of repentance. Why 
should we repent of our iniquities ? God is un- 
changeable, and therefore all we can do must be 
unavailing. If you urge that it is right, in itself, 
that sinful creatures should gain a newness of 



268 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



heart and life, to insure the favor of a holy God, 
we reply, that this is true, but that it is not 
more true than that prayer in a dependent crea- 
ture is right in itself. If you urge that repent- 
ance is expressly commanded, we answer, so is 
prayer, and by the same authority. If you, yet 
further, urge that repentance is an express con- 
dition of obtaining God's favorable regard, we 
still reply, so is prayer. If, therefore, you reject 
this duty on the ground of God's unchangeable- 
ness, then be consistent and reject every other 
means of obtaining His favor, on the same 
ground. But the difficulty does not stop here. 
The objection which is thus urged against prayer 
lies with equal strength against every other hu- 
man effort. The duration of our lives, and all 
the circumstances of life, are known to God, and 
nothing which we can do can affect His un- 
changeable purposes. But are we, on this ac- 
count, to take no precautions for our continu- 
ance, safety, and well-being ? If this reasoning 
be plainly unsound, when applied to all these 
subjects, it is equally so when applied to prayer. 
The objection proves too much, and is, therefore, 
of no moment. God is omniscient and unchange- 
able. This is admitted. But in His wisdom, 
and in His mercy, as we believe, He has ap- 
pointed certain conditions, on the performance of 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



269 



which He will give or withhold His favor. 
There is something to be done by us before we 
can receive the promised boon. If we do not 
comply with the condition, it is presumption to 
expect the desired result. If we do, then we 
may humbly, but yet confidently, rely on the 
faithfulness of Him who hath promised. 

We take leave of this subject here. We have 
remarked upon all those objections to the effica- 
cy of prayer which are believed to be of any 
importance. And we have dwelt thus upon 
these, not because they are considered of any 
great weight in themselves, but because, if they 
be allowed to go into general circulation, in 
the world abroad, and to pass through the mind 
unexamined, they will spread insensibly over 
this all-important part of our religious exercises 
a feeling of distrust, a sort of lurking infidelity, 
which is most hostile to all true devotion ; and 
will shut out the soul, as by a wall of adamant, 
from a near and confiding communion with its 
God. 

In the preceding remarks, we have attempted 
to answer those objections which are most fre- 
quently alleged against the Christian doctrine of 
the efficacy of prayer. We shall now endeav- 
our to set in order some of the more important 
arguments by which the doctrine is supported. 



270 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



Our main design in this discussion is, as we 
have already said, to impress upon other minds 
what we deem to be important truths on this 
exceedingly interesting subject. We shall, there- 
fore, in the remarks which will follow, go di- 
rectly to our object, using those arguments and 
suggestions which appear to be soundest and 
best adapted to our purpose, without being so- 
licitous whether they be original or not. 

What reason, then, have we to believe that 
prayer is one of the means of obtaining the 
favor and help of God ? 

It may be proper to explain, at the outset of 
this inquiry, what we understand by the effica- 
cy of prayer. Of its importance, viewed mere- 
ly as an instrumental duty, as a means of ex- 
citing and cherishing devout affections and sen- 
timents, and of enabling us to live a holy life, 
none can think more highly than we. These 
are the natural consequences of prayer, that is, 
those which result from the well-known princi- 
ples of the human mind. But by the term ef- 
ficacy of prayer, in these remarks, we would be 
understood to maintain, that it is a means of ob- 
taining the specific favor and help of God, both 
in regard to our spiritual and temporal welfare, 
which we may not expect to receive with- 
out it. 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



271 



Our first remark is, that this efficacy is prom- 
ised to our prayers in God's revealed word. We 
consider the language of the Scriptures on this 
point to be full, decided, and unequivocal. The 
doctrine is uniformly recognized in the old cove- 
nant and in the new. " The righteous cry, and 
the Lord heareth." " He will fulfil the desires of 
them that fear him, he will hear their cry, and 
save them." " Ask, and it shall be given you." 
"If ye, then, being evil, know how to give good 
gifts unto your children, how much more shall 
your Father, which is in heaven, give good 
things to them that ask him?" " The fervent 
prayer of the righteous man availeth much." 
" This is the confidence that we have in him, 
that, if we ask any thing according to his will, 
he heareth us." We need not, we suppose, add 
to these examples. Although it has been at- 
tempted to restrict their meaning to certain per- 
sons, times, and circumstances, yet we see no 
good reason for doing so, which would not apply 
to any other exhortation, precept, or promise of 
the Scriptures. This is especially true of the 
direction and promise of our Saviour above 
quoted, which do not seem, according to the 
acknowledged rules of interpretation, to admit 
of a meaning which restricts them to his imme- 
diate disciples. Indeed, by the words, " how 



272 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



much more shall he give good things to them 
that ask him ? " he seems to render encourage- 
ment to prayer as general as words can make it. 
And again, when he directed his followers to 
pray, and gave them a form as a model, can we 
believe he intended to prescribe an act and a 
form which he knew to be useless and unavail- 
ing ? And when, in this form, he inserted cer- 
tain direct petitions, both for spiritual and tem- 
poral blessings, thereby exciting an expectation, 
in the minds of his followers, that their petitions 
would be regarded by the Hearer of prayer, can 
we believe that he knew, all the while, that 
they would not be regarded? Would this be 
ingenuous ? Would it be like our Saviour thus 
to mock and deceive those, who, in meekness 
and in confidence, looked to him for counsel and 
direction in a matter so solemn as this? We 
think, then, it is assuming nothing to say, that 
this argument from the Scriptures is decisive, 
and that he, therefore, who receives them as 
containing a revelation from God, and reflects 
seriously on the import of the passages above 
cited, as well as on the general tenor of their 
language in reference to this subject, must admit, 
that, whatever difficulties may attend the sub- 
ject in other respects, the doctrine of the effica- 
cy of prayer is a doctrine taught of God. 



THE EFFICACY OF . PRAYER. 273 

But further, it is a doctrine which does not 
rest upon authority merely. It is, in itself, en- 
tirely rational. And in the first place, we would 
inquire, whether it is not altogether fitting and 
proper that weak and imperfect creatures should 
bow down in adoration before Him who is cloth- 
ed w r ith infinitely adorable attributes ? That 
dependent beings should acknowledge their de- 
pendence ? That he who receives from God all 
that he is, or has, or hopes for, should gratefully 
acknowledge His favors ? That he who is con- 
scious of his many sins and much estrangement 
from his Heavenly Benefactor and Friend should 
supplicate His pardoning mercy ? And, especial- 
ly, that he who feels his need of aid from above, 
at every step he takes, and with every breath he 
breathes, should implore this aid ? Is not all this, 
in the highest degree, fitting and proper ? Are 
not these dispositions and these acts considered 
rational and right in the ordinary relations of 
life, and towards earthly benefactors ? And shall 
they not be esteemed so in reference to our God, 
with whom our relations are infinitely more 
near and close than with any other being, and 
whose benefits are infinitely greater ? Suppose 
they were not prescribed, yet would not the 
natural unperverted reason of man lead him to 
their observance ? If, then, they are thus right 
18 



274 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



and proper in themselves, is it not reasonable to 
suppose that he who performs them worthily 
does thereby render himself more an object of 
God's favor, than he who performs them not ? 
Are not the relations of the suppliant with his 
Maker favorably changed by these very acts ? 
Must he not be more the object of complacent 
regard, in the sight of his God, than he was be- 
fore ? And is it not reasonable to suppose, that, 
in the bestowment of heavenly gifts, his well- 
deserving, in this respect, shall come up in gra- 
cious recognition before the Hearer of prayer, 
and become the means of procuring favors not 
granted to those who neglect a duty thus fitting 
and proper ? 

And there is another aspect of this subject, 
which leads to the same conclusion. Prayer is 
a native instinct of the human soul. It is ren- 
dered necessary, by the very natures which God 
has given us ; and prayer, let it be marked in 
connection with this, involves necessarily the 
belief, that, if duly offered, it will be heard. 
And hence we infer, that, being thus a necessary 
part of our natures, it is not implanted in vain ; 
and thus necessarily involving this belief, it will 
not be disappointed. Both these positions, we 
think, must be admitted, and, if true, the infer- 
ence from them inevitably follows. Prayer, in 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



275 



all the different parts of the exercise, is thus 
natural to the constitution of human nature. It 
is natural to the heart to bow down in adora- 
tion before transcendent excellence. It is nat- 
ural to the heart to overflow with gratitude, in 
the reception of countless blessings, or at least, 
in the reception of great and unexpected favors. 
It is natural to the heart to be wrung with peni- 
tential sorrow under the consciousness of guilt. 
And it is natural to the heart, amidst evils felt 
and feared, to seek the aid of that Being who 
alone is mighty to save. The very idea of God 
suggests the duty and the privilege of prayer. 
The voice of nature calls to prayer, even where 
the idea of the true God is not known. All na- 
tions, kindred, and tongues ; all of all places ; all 
of all times ; all of all religions, true or false ; 
all of all sects ; — all feel the strong necessity, 
and all join in the earnest aspirations of prayer. 
There beats not at this moment, and there nev- 
er did beat, beneath the sun, a human heart that 
has not felt the need of prayer, and that has not 
sought, with or without words, the help of a 
known or an unknown God. However in giddy 
youth, or in the death-dance of a dissipated 
career, or in the dreadful infatuation of an over- 
busy life, or in the headlong indulgence of the 
senses and passions, this necessity of prayer may 



276 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



be unfelt 3 yet still it is a resource to which the 
spirit naturally and instinctively turns in its 
dark and trying hours. Then it is felt as a 
strong desire of our natures. Then it is sought 
by an inherent impulse. Then it becomes a 
craving want, an irrepressible longing of the 
soul, and it feels that it must pray or die. And 
is it rational to believe that God should have 
given this decided tendency to our natures for 
no assignable purpose? that He should have 
rendered this offering of our spirits thus natural, 
thus necessary, and yet wholly useless ? If so, 
it is a strange anomaly in nature. Every other 
natural feeling and propensity has its object, its 
final cause ; and can we believe that this has 
none ? that God made man to pray, and, let it 
be particularly noted, made him to pray in the 
hope and expectation that his prayers shall be 
heard and answered, for this is involved in the 
very act of prayer, and yet wholly disappoints 
this hope and expectation ? Are our natures 
thus deluded by our God ? Is it not far more 
rational to believe, that, when He thus made man 
to pray, an act which necessarily involves the 
belief that it will have an efficacy in procuring 
His favor, He thereby made it an appointed 
means of obtaining this favor, and that it will 
not end in disappointment and mockery ? 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



277 



The doctrine, then, of the efficacy of prayer 
rests, first, on the full, express, and unequivocal 
declarations and injunctions of the Scriptures, 
and especially on the declarations and injunc- 
tions of our Saviour, which were also enforced 
by his very emphatic example. It rests, second- 
ly, on the fact, that as prayer is fitting and 
proper in itself, as an offering of man to God, so 
it is rational to suppose that it is one of the 
conditions which God regards in the communi- 
cation of good to men ; and that he who per- 
forms it duly, therefore, as he does what is fit- 
ting and right, may reasonably expect blessings, 
which he who does not perform it may not ex- 
pect. It rests, thirdly, on the fact, that as it is 
an instinctive suggestion and want of our spirits 
which is to be referred to Him who created 
them, and as it necessarily implies the belief 
that our offerings will not be disregarded, it is 
reasonable to suppose that this call of our na- 
tures was not given to delude us, and that this 
belief will not be disappointed. 

But, it may be asked, if prayer have this effi- 
cacy in obtaining the especial favor of God, why 
is it not made evident to our experience ? If 
He indeed grant the prayer of our petition, so far 
as in His wisdom He sees to be best, why is not 
this fact so made known in the bestowment of 



278 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



the boon, as to remove all doubt on the subject ? 
This is a question which has pressed upon many 
devout and anxious minds, and. on this account; 
deserves to be carefully considered. 

And. in reply, we observe that the importance 
of the objection, that we have no palpable and 
unambiguous experience that our prayers are an- 
swered in the manner above explained, is pre- 
cisely measured by the antecedent probability, 
that, on the supposition of our prayers possessing 
the efficacy claimed for them, in procuring the 
blessing sought, this efficacy would thus be 
made known. Now there are various reasons 
why this should not be expected. But one, 
which seems decisive to us, is, that it would be 
contrary to the analogies of Divine Providence 
in similar cases. No good effort or act is thus 
stamped with the immediate and visible seal of 
God's approbation. A certain degree of vague- 
ness and uncertainty rests upon all the issues of 
human conduct, however good and however 
acceptable to our great Witness and Judge. 
Temperance, for example, is ordinarily the 
means of health and prolonged life, and thus 
bears the mark of God's approval ; but no spe- 
cific indication of Divine favor follows every 
act of self-denial. Probity, as a general rule, 
secures success in business, the confidence of 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



279 



men. self-respect, and peace of conscience, and 
is thus distinguished by the favor of God : but 
no immediate proof or manifestation of this is 
attached to every instance of uprightness and 
fair dealing. Piety, in all its exercises and offi- 
ces; is always, we may be sure, followed by a 
Divine blessing : but no immediate and palpable 
indication of this attends every instance of a 
humble reference of ourselves to God. The 
same is true of all similar acts and offerings, 
which, we cannot doubt, are acceptable to Him. 
and blessed of Him. We see. then, that it is 
contrary to the analogies of His providence, in 
the present state, that He should mark His ap- 
probation and acceptance of our conduct, how- 
ever worthy, by any palpable, and unambiguous, 
and immediate tokens or evidences. He will 
have us act on a sense of duty, and trust to the 
"faithfulness of Him who hath promised."' It 
would be throwing us back at once into the 
Jewish dispensation, if " voices out of heaven '' 
were to ■•instruct''' us at each step of our earthly 
pilgrimage. He has placed us under a more lib- 
eral discipline. " Happy are they who have not 
seen, and yet have believed." is His continual 
language to men in all events, and in the per- 
formance of every duty. What reason, then, 
have we to expect a different one in regard to 



280 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



prayer ? There seems to be none. On the 
contrary, it appears far more rational to conclude; 
that, as in the bestowment of all other blessings 
in return for worthy conduct, the visible pres- 
ence of the Divine hand is not manifested ; so in 
regard to prayer, it may be accepted and an- 
swered, and yet without any visible and palpa- 
ble tokens of Divine approbation. And as the 
objection against the efficacy of prayer, derived 
from the fact that this efficacy is not distinctly 
marked out by God, is precisely measured by 
the grounds we have for thinking beforehand 
that it would be thus designated, it seems to 
have no solid foundation. 

The answer of Paley to this objection is dif- 
ferent ; and as, with great deference to his au- 
thority, it appears to us incomplete and unsatis*- 
factory, we shall quote it at length, that the 
brief remarks we shall presume to offer upon it 
may be better understood and appreciated. 

u But efficacy is ascribed to prayer without 
the proof, we are told, which can alone, in such 
a subject, produce conviction, the confirmation 
of experience. Concerning the appeal to expe- 
rience, I shall content myself with this remark, 
that if prayer were suffered to disturb the or- 
der of second causes appointed in the universe 
too much, or to produce its effects with the same 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



281 



regularity that they do, it would introduce a 
change into human affairs, which, in some im- 
portant respects, would be evidently for the 
worse. Who, for example, would labor, if his 
necessities could be supplied with equal certain- 
ty by prayer ? How few would contain within 
any bounds of moderation those passions and 
pleasures, which, at present, are checked only 
by disease, or the dread of it, if prayer would 
infallibly restore health ? In short, if the effica- 
cy of prayer were so constant and observable as 
to be relied upon beforehand, it is easy to fore- 
see that the conduct of mankind would, in pro- 
portion to that reliance, become careless and 
disorderly."* 

We have ventured to allude to this reply, as 
incomplete and unsatisfactory ; and this, partly, 
because the phrase, " if prayer were suffered to 
disturb the order of second causes appointed 
in the universe too much" conveys to our minds 
no distinct idea; but principally, because the 
examples adduced of the bad consequences 
which would follow a visible and express effica- 
cy attending our prayers are all instances of pe- 
titions unworthy in themselves, since they do 
not include, on the part of the petitioner, that 



* Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy, Book V., Ch. II. 



282 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



state of the soul and those appropriate efforts 
which should always accompany his petitions, 
It may be readily admitted that a palpable re- 
turn, or any return, to such prayers as these, 
would disturb the settled order of nature, and 
tend to render men " careless and disorderly." 
But yet the question would recur, Why should 
not prayers, worthy in themselves, and worthily 
offered, as it is asserted they are efficacious in 
procuring the Divine favor, be followed by visi- 
ble tokens of this favor ? In the following ex- 
tract, which succeeds in immediate connection 
with that already cited, a true and sufficient an- 
swer, yet different from that we have suggested, 
is indicated, and we have only to regret that it 
was not illustrated by some examples, to render 
its meaning more precise and plain, especially in 
regard to that very just and important remark at 
the close of the quotation, — " since it appears 
probable that this very ambiguity is necessary 
to the happiness and safety of human life.*' 

"It is possible, in the nature of things, that 
our prayers may, in many instances, be effica- 
cious, and yet our experience of their efficacy 
be dubious and obscure. Therefore, if the light 
of nature instruct us by any other arguments to 
hope for effect from prayer ; still more, if the 
Scriptures authorize these hopes by promises of 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



283 



acceptance ; it seems not a sufficient reason for 
calling in question the reality of such effects, 
that our observations of them are ambiguous ; 
especially since it appears probable that this 
very ambiguity is necessary to the happiness 
and safety of human life." 

We proceed, yet further, to observe, that as 
we may hope and trust our prayers for ourselves 
will have an efficacy in procuring the favor of 
God, so we may also hope and trust that our in- 
tercessions for others will not be unheard or un- 
answered by our common Father in heaven. 
This, as in the former case, is the assurance of 
the Scripture. Our Saviour answered the prayer 
of the woman of Canaan for her daughter. His 
own prayers were earnestly offered to God for 
his immediate followers, and not for " these 
alone, but those also which should believe on 
them through their word. 7 ' The apostles made 
" continual mention " of their absent friends in 
their prayers. They ask the prayers of their 
followers in their own behalf; and St. James 
directs his disciples, in so many words, to " pray 
for one another. 5 ' As prayer, then, for others is 
enjoined, as well as prayer for ourselves, it fol- 
lows that it is as rational to conclude it will 
have an efficacy in the one case as in the other. 
Besides, it is entirely analogous with the known 



2S4 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



order of Providence, that the conduct of one in- 
dividual should, in manifold ways, affect the 
welfare of those around him without any agen- 
cy on their part, but simply by means of those 
connections by which we are bound together in 
this life. Indeed, almost all our blessings are 
thus conferred by the influence of others. Why 
should not our prayers be one means of exercis- 
ing this beneficent agency, which God will smile 
upon and bless. There is nothing more irra- 
tional in this, than that we should be the agents 
which He uses to communicate favors to oth- 
ers, in countless other ways. And now. in con- 
nection with these remarks, let it be noted, that 
our prayers for others are as proper and fitting, 
taking into view the relations we bear to them, 
as our prayers for ourselves. And we have, 
therefore, the same reason for believing that the 
right performance of what is thus fitting and 
proper will have the same efficacy in regard to 
others as it has in regard to ourselves. Our 
prayers for others, yet further, are as natural, 
and therefore as necessary a dictate of the heart, 
as our prayers for ourselves : and it is as irra- 
tional in the one case as in the other, to think 
that this natural call to prayer should have been 
given in vain, and that the expectation which is 
necessarily involved in this prayer, that it will 



t 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 285 

be heard and answered, should be delusive. 
And, in addition to all this, may we not conceive 
it to be the most consonant to the character of 
our common Father in heaven, that He should 
honor and reward the benevolent dispositions of 
His children, by hearing and answering those 
prayers, which, in Christian love, simplicity, and 
sincerity, they offer for one another ? Certain it 
is, there are many instances in which we should 
value such a return to our prayers more than 
any return which should be sent to us alone. 

The doctrine of the efficacy of prayer, thus 
explained and asserted, seems to us to be fully 
sustained by the Scripture, entirely rational in 
itself, and in perfect analogy with all else that 
we know of the dealings of Divine Providence. 
But it is, in practice, often encumbered with 
mistakes and perversions, which have brought 
discredit on the doctrine. There are two of 
these, which it may be expedient distinctly to 
point out, 

One is. that, in consequence of the efficacy as- 
cribed to prayer, means and efforts in reference 
to the blessings sought may be omitted. This 
mistake, though by no means uncommon, is too 
bald and obvious, we trust, to have gained much 
prevalence in a community like ours: and we 
shall dismiss it with a very brief commentary. 



286 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



Prayer and effort are never to be disjoined. The 
Christian who will not act in furtherance of his 
prayers is scarcely a less inconsistent being than 
he who will not pray in furtherance of his ef- 
forts. While we feel deeply sensible that all our 
ultimate dependence rests in God alone, we 
should labor, in the way of His appointment, as 
if every thing depended on our own exertions. 
Prayer, then, is to inspire and aid our efforts, not 
to supersede them. While we believe that God 
" is rich to all that call upon Him," we are also 
to remember that it is presumption to think that 
He will work a miracle for any. 

Another error which has prevailed, to the dis- 
credit of a belief in the doctrine we maintain, 
is, that it has been considered as a direct means 
of obtaining the particular and especial favor 
desired. It is very possible, in this way. to car- 
ry the doctrine to an extreme, and render it ex- 
ceptionable, and even absurd. But in asserting 
that there is an efficacy belonging to prayer, we 
say nothing of its precise extent, or to what pre- 
cise degree it becomes a ground of divine favor. 
This it is the province of the great Hearer of 
prayer to determine, and is known only to Him. 
Much particularity in our petitions is therefore 
to be avoided, since the manner and the degree 
in which the desired blessings should be be- 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



287 



stowed are under a higher and infinitely better 
arrangement than ours. We know not, in this 
respect, how to pray, or what to pray for. In 
our darkness and blindness, and with our hearts 
full of fond and foolish wishes, we may ask for 
an apparent good, but which is, in truth, a real 
evil. The thought struck even a heathen, that 

" We might be cursed with every granted prayer." 

Our own experience may have taught us the 
same. How often have we felt it to be impossi- 
ble not to embody in our prayers some petition 
for a longed-for good, which the lapse of time 
and event has shown us was withholden in mer- 
cy. And, on the other hand, that which seemed 
to our apprehension a harsh and cruel disap- 
pointment of our petitions has proved, in the 
result, the means and the way of a before un- 
imagined good. We should feel, then, that it is 
not for such as we to point out the paths of 
Providence. We should ask what we ask, with 
an entire submission to the will of Heaven. 
We should rejoice that we are not at our own 
disposal. We should gratefully and tenderly 
realize that God knows us better than we know 
ourselves ; that He loves us better than w^e love 
ourselves ; that He will do for us better than we 
can ask or conceive for ourselves ; and that He 



2SS 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



will answer our petitions, if not according to 
their precise import, yet according to the import 
we ourselves should give to them, were we as 
great and wise and good as He. We should 

" Still raise for good the supplicating voice, 
But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice. 
Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar 
The secret ambush of a specious prayer; 
Implore His aid, in His decisions rest, 
Secure, whate'er He gives, He gives the best. !! 

The doctrine which we have thus endeav- 
oured to support and explain is, at all times, 
most sustaining and most consolatory. Without 
it, our prayers will be deprived of their first ob- 
ject and most important significancy. But with 
the full assurance that they are indeed heard 
by Him who is mighty to save, and that they 
will be answered by Him so far as is consist- 
ent with His own ineffable wisdom and good- 
ness, they are as the breath of spiritual life 
to the Christian. This assurance gives a feel- 
ing of reality, depth, and tenderness to our 
devotions, which enables us to enter, in some 
measure, into that communion "with our God 
which is to be the portion and reward of the ac- 
cepted spirit in the heavenly world. Do we not 
speak to the experience of the reader in this ? 
Is there no response to these words in his own 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 



289 



consciousness ? If so, let him not, on this ac- 
count, reject the doctrine we thus assert and 
cherish. It is possible he is no competent judge 
in this matter. He may be very wary and very 
successful in all those selfish calculations and ob- 
jects which regard this present world. He may 
deem himself so wise and clear-headed as to feel 
authorized to say that we are speaking the lan- 
guage of excited feeling and raised enthusiasm. 
But still this may be a subject on which, with 
his present state and habits of mind, he is not 
qualified to speak. His pursuits may have led 
him into trains of thought so diverse and even 
opposite, that he can have no sympathy with 
ours in this. There yet may be a boon and a 
blessedness here on the earth to be enjoyed, of 
which, with his merely earthly objects before 
him, he has not yet attained the slightest con- 
ception. And let him be reminded, yet further, 
there may be a wisdom of the soul whose 
price no earthly wealth can reach. Have any 
whose eyes rest on these lines felt this com- 
munion of the heart with its God, they, they 
know that our words, and that all words, serve 
rather as shadows than as lights to indicate the 
blessed reality. 



19 



SERMON XVII. 



OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE. 

THOU KNOWEST NOT WHAT A DAY MAY BRING FORTH. — 

Proverbs xxvii. 1. 

The book of the future is sealed. We can- 
not turn over its leaves in advance, and read 
what is written there. It is only opened to us 
page by page. Nay, what may be the import 
even of each successive sentence and word is 
wholly unknown to us. If we consult the stars, 
they drop down to us no tidings. Predictions 
are untrustworthy. The "prophets prophesy 
lies.*' Presages are vague. Signs signify noth- 
ing here. The fortune-tellers cannot help us. 
The spirits of necromancy and conjuration will 
not come when they are called. Dreams are 
false. Omens fail. We know not, indeed, what 
a day — no, nor what an hour or an instant — 
may bring forth, and none can tell us. There 



OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE. 291 



is only one event, in the myriads that may be- 
tide, that is certain to befall us, and that one is 
death. But when and how even this shall over- 
take us, God, and God alone, knows. 

Still, human curiosity has ever been insatiable 
on this point. The wisdom of the wise has 
turned to foolishness here. The brightest in- 
tellect that has appeared among the Anglo- 
Saxon race was ever busying itself with au- 
spices and auguries. The might of the mighty 
has quailed before some threatening sign. 
Prophecies of success have led on to their 
own fulfilment. The grand man-butcher of 
Europe, when he was a young lieutenant of ar- 
tillery, is said to have given three days' pay to a 
poor dealer in mysteries, who predicted that he 
would one day sit upon the throne of France. 
But this peeping into the future, however com- 
mon, is unwise and unworthy. This ignorance 
of what is to befall us is ordered by God in love, 
and is intended to advance both our improve- 
ment and happiness. It is the object of this dis- 
course to make this plain. 

And, first, a knowledge of what is to betide 
us in the future would tend obviously to par- 
alyze human effort, and thereby check the devel- 
opment of our moral and intellectual powers. 
It is an obvious part of the condition of this 



292 OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE. 

present life, that we are made to act habitually, 
and under all its circumstances, in reference to 
results, which often are never to take place. A 
glance at the past will illustrate this. How 
many plans have we laid and toiled to mature 
which have ended only in failure ! How many 
pleasures have we sought which were ever to 
elude our grasp ! How many evils have we 
shuddered at and recoiled from, and carefully 
guarded against, which were never to befall us ! 
How often has the mirage of hope tempted us 
on in a hot and weary path, and then vanished 
and left us desolate on the parched and barren 
sands! How much knowledge have we toiled 
for that has proved to be unavailable ! How 
much skill have we gained in arts and in affairs 
which has found no sphere for its exercise ! 
How many places have we sought which we 
were never destined to fill ! How many rela- 
tions have we anticipated that we were never to 
assume ! How much toil and hardship have we 
encountered for objects that we were never to 
gain ! How earnestly and how long have w^e 
labored for the welfare of others, and received in 
return listlessness, indifference, or ingratitude ! 
How often, in a word, have we labored on in 
the hard husbandry of life, only to reap the un- 
welcome harvests of disappointment ! 



OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE. 



293 



Suppose, now, that all these results had been 
laid open to our view at our entrance upon life. 
It is obvious that we should have exerted our- 
selves for nothing but what we knew beforehand 
we could obtain. We should have thought it idle 
to waste our powers in unavailing efforts. We 
should have given ourselves as little concern as 
possible in regard to any thing which we clearly 
foresaw it would be equally impossible to obtain 
or avert. What, then, in such a case, would have 
become of that training of our faculties which this 
very pursuit of unattainable objects has called 
forth ? It would obviously have been foregone, 
and we, in consequence, should have wanted all 
that discipline of heart and mind, all that knowl- 
edge, all those various accomplishments, in a 
word, all that spiritual culture which has been 
called forth by that very uncertainty that rested 
upon the future. And as this improvement and 
discipline of the faculties is an inconceivably 
higher good than the attainment of any merely 
temporal object whatsoever, since it is one that 
will outlast the blight of all things else, — nay, 
paradoxical as it may seem, so much better is 
the search after truth than the attainment of 
it, even if this were possible, — we see in this 
unrevealed arrangement of things, of which in 



294 



OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE, 



our blindness we are often willing to complain, 
the essential goodness of our God. 

And as this ignorance of the future is thus 
promotive of our intellectual improvement, so is 
it not less so. in the second place, of our moral 
and religious progress. It enters essentially into 
that great scheme of probation by which alone 
character is to be formed in this world, and hap- 
piness secured, in consequence, in the next. 
How much of our moral and religious trial is 
formed by that utter darkness in which the fu- 
ture is veiled ! If, with a prophetic vision, it 
were permitted us to see, at a glance, all the 
blessed effects of any virtuous act, beginning 
here, spreading its gracious influences around in 
a thousand ways, and then reaching on to its 
full reversion of blessedness in an eternal state, 
we could not hesitate, for an instant, in making 
this virtuous act our choice. And so, on the 
other hand, could we see, in one continued his- 
tory, the results of any single sin, from its first 
winning deceitfulness in its approach, through 
all its deepening stages of aggravation, wretch- 
edness, and remorse in the present world, and 
then on and on to its full consummation of ruin 
hereafter, it is obvious that it would be loathed 
and shunned at once, as the accursed thing it 



OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE. 295 

really is. It is obvious that the motive to se- 
cure the one, and to reject the other, would be 
an overwhelming one. There would be left to 
us no power of choice between the two, and 
therefore none of those mental conflicts between 
duty and desire, principle and passion, law and 
license, which now constitute the very discipline 
and school of virtue, would exist. And even 
though, in such a posture of things, we should 
commit fewer positive sins and perform more 
absolute acts of virtue, yet our merit would be 
less. It would be little better than that of a 
slave, acting under the uplifted lash of his mas- 
ter, who obeys because he must. There would 
be obviously, in such a case, no balancing be- 
tween good and evil, as such ; no ingenuous 
preference of the one, no dutiful avoidance of 
the other. Our moral sense would not be taught : 
our consciences would not be quickened: our 
spiritual apprehensions would not be cleared. 
But now that the precise consequences of our 
conduct are hidden from our view, we can only 
determine on what shall be its character by con- 
sidering what it is in itself ; what it is in refer- 
ence to the law of God ; what it is in regard to 
our spiritual improvement. Choice is now free. 
We are left to act on our own high, solemn, 
sublime responsibility, as moral agents ; to 



296 



OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE. 



choose or refuse goodness for its own sake ; and, 
leaving all specific results, meekly, trustfully, 
hopefully, in the hands of a holy God, to make 
the formation of character, a high, pure, re- 
ligious character, the grand aim of life. How 
unwise is it, then, to be impatient of the dark- 
ness of the future, when this very darkness is an 
essential means of a glorious discipline for such 
glorious ends ! 

The goodness of God in thus veiling the fu- 
ture from our view is apparent, in the third 
place, from the fact, that our highest happiness 
in this life is thus promoted. Made, as we are, 
to live and act constantly in reference to the 
future, our best welfare depends on the ministry 
of Hope. I need not go over here the common- 
places on this subject, either in poetry or in 
prose. The fact is obvious to everybody's expe- 
rience in every hour of life. And is it not equal- 
ly obvious, that the uncertainty which now rests 
upon the future is necessary to the very exist- 
ence of hope? Where certainty begins, hope 
ends. What faith can there be where all is 
sight ? What trust, where all is known ? We 
might then, indeed, expect or wait for a distant 
good, but we could no longer hope. And this ex- 
pectation, or the taking up of the future before- 
hand, is almost always rather an evil than a good. 



OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE. 



297 



Do we wish, then, to remove from the soul the 
element of hope ? Do we wish to strike that ray- 
out of the light of life that gilds the happiest lot ? 
Do we wish to blot out of the firmament the only 
star that never fades nor sets in the darkest night 
of our sorrows ? Do we wish to part with that 
guardian angel who alone is with us at every 
step of our earthly pilgrimage, who comes into 
closer companionship when others desert us, and 
is always nearest to us when most needed ? If 
we do not, then let us not look with impatience 
on the darkness that veils the future, since this 
is necessary to the very being, and to all the 
blessedness, of Hope. It is only on the dark can- 
vass of uncertainty that her beautiful pictures 
can be painted. 

Our ignorance, further, of what a day may 
bring forth is necessary to the best enjoyment of 
what is good, and to the best endurance of what 
is evil, in life. This may appear evident from 
considering, that, if, in youth especially, or, in- 
deed, at almost any subsequent period, the whole 
amount of happiness that God intends for us 
were placed before us in distinct vision, and 
made as certain to our minds as any present re- 
ality, the natural effect of this would be to ren- 
der us impatient of the present. Our eyes being 
fixed on certain radiant spots in the distance, we 



298 



OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE. 



should naturally wish that the intervening spaces 
might be annihilated, and we should become 
weary of those successive steps by which alone 
they can be reached. This impatience, more- 
over, in itself a species of misery, would lead to 
the further and fatal evil of undervaluing the 
constantly recurring advantages of our lot. A 
fatal evil indeed, since the happiness of life con- 
sists, not in those high-toned and exquisite enjoy- 
ments which naturally, but most unwisely, ab- 
sorb our attention, but in those smaller pleasures, 
those lesser gratifications, those unexciting joys, 
which are scattered like wild-flowers along the 
paths of every-day life. These, ordinarily, are 
but too much undervalued, and they would be 
wholly lost out of view in comparison with what 
would appear to us, in the case supposed, the 
greater good in reversion. But not only would 
the real happiness of life be thus sacrificed in this 
anticipation of a future good, but how seldom 
would this very future good, when attained, be 
found to meet and satisfy the anticipations to 
which it gave birth ! When did it come to pass, 
that any long-contemplated pleasure answered, 
in its fruition, to the presages of a vivid imagina- 
tion ? How often are the betokenings of fancy 
realized in actual life ? How much oftener than 
never ? 



OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE. 



299 



And then, again, it is obvious that no small 
part of the happiness of life is formed by pleasing 
contingencies, fortunate accidents, agreeable hap- 
penings, felicitous casualties, as we heathenishly 
enough call them. But what would become of 
these in the case supposed ? They obviously 
could not take place. Every step before us being 
plainly marked out, and clearly perceived before- 
hand, all the pleasure which is now derived from 
the freshness, novelty, and unexpectedness of 
events would be done away, and nothing would 
be left to us but the naked and sterile realities of 
life. And would this contribute to the sum of 
human enjoyment ? 

And how mercifully the future is hidden from 
our view appears yet more strikingly when we 
think of the calamities and trials of our probation 
here. These, indeed, we know are to befall us, 
because they make an essential part of the com- 
mon lot, and none may hope to escape them. But 
what they may be, or how they will take place, 
or when they will occur, or how long they will 
remain, is wholly concealed from us, and our 
ignorance of these circumstances, together with 
the helpful ministry of hope, enables us to live 
on, up to the very period of their occurrence, in 
an almost entire insensibility to their approach. 
But suppose the path of suffering through which 



300 OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE, 

we must all pass, with all its particular woes, 
and with all their minute circumstances of aggra- 
vation, were distinctly revealed to us, with what 
heart could we enter upon it, or even enjoy any 
present good? How would the youth engage 
in a serious preparation for the business of life, 
if he foresaw that all this preparation would be 
unavailing, either by means of adverse circum- 
stances which he could not control, or by his 
own infirmities, or by the sins of others, or by an 
early death ? How could the man in middle life 
toil on, day after day, through weariness and dis- 
heartening perplexities, if he foresaw that he was 
thus laboring and enduring in pursuits that would 
soon terminate in blank disappointment ? How 
would the scholar and seeker after truth and wis- 
dom persevere in anxious toil of the brain, and in 
a wearing out of the very springs of life, if he 
foresaw that his labors would end in nothing but 
a weariness of the flesh and spirit ? How would 
the lover of his kind and country put in jeopardy 
his person, property, and life for public objects 
and the public weal, if it were shown to him 
clearly beforehand, that his only reward would 
be the misunderstanding, the derision, the in- 
gratitude, of those whom he lives and labors to 
serve ? 

Who, again, would enter on the tender alii- 



OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE. 



301 



ances of the heart, and attempt to surround him- 
self with the gracious charities of domestic life, 
if he knew the precise day and hour and all the 
minute circumstances of an event which would, 
at one fell "blow, crush these alliances and leave 
his home hopelessly desolate ? 

And how would life be shrouded as by the 
gloom of the grave, if the very moment and all 
the minute circumstances of our own death were 
placed in distinct view before us ! How disas- 
trously would the whole aspect of this present 
existence be changed ! How then would every 
successive stepj in whatsoever direction it might 
be taken, be palpably seen to be, as it really is, 
a nearer and still nearer advance towards the 
dark valley ! What useless and yet what un- 
avoidable anxiety would then take possession of 
our spirits ! How often should we, in fact, die 
before our appointed time ! How many, in 
fine, are there, who, if their whole future his- 
tory were laid before them at the threshold of 
this life, would be ready to lie down and stop 
there ! 

In view, then, of the trials and calamities of 
life, we may perceive how graciously the future 
is hidden from our view. We know, indeed, 
that these evils are before us, but this very un- 
certainty in which they are veiled enables us to 



302 OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE. 

feel, think, act, to engage in the duties and enjoy 
the pleasures before us at each successive mo- 
ment, as if some immunity from the common lot 
of suffering were granted to us, and as if we 
really bore a charmed existence in the midst of 
a distressed and a dying world. We can thus 
fulfil the claims and enjoy the pleasures of life's 
little and transient day, even unto the last ray 
that gleams from its setting sun. We may thus 
toil on in the labors of this probationary state, 
until we crop the last flower that blooms on the 
brink of our graves. We are thus enabled to 
float along with the stream of life, enjoying the 
agreeable companionship around us, the happy 
incidents of the passage, the pleasing prospects 
on either hand, down, down even to the very 
brink of the precipice where it takes its final 
plunge into the gulf of eternity. 

Thus our ignorance of " what a day may bring 
forth " is a P art °f that great moral scheme of 
things', in which, for wise and gracious purposes, 
God has placed us, and which, therefore, we 
ought not to wish to alter. If the foregoing re- 
marks are just, it is necessary to the development 
of our moral and intellectual powers, to our 
religious progress, and to our best happiness in 
this life. The substance of the whole matter is, 
that the aims of human action are mainly valua- 



OUR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE. 



303 



ble, not for their intrinsic worth, but as stimu- 
lants to exertion. 

And these are considerations that may be well 
pondered now, as we are reading off some of the 
last pages of the record of the passing year, and 
are just entering on the yet unopened volume of 
a new one. A thoughtful review of that which 
is now closing will show us that it has been well 
both for our happiness and improvement, that 
each successive hour has been left to be its inter- 
preter. And it is, in like manner, well that the 
history of the approaching year is yet to be writ- 
ten. Whether we shall live to see its close, or 
what its successive days and hours shall bring, 
we know not, nor is it well to seek to know. 
We shall be content, if we are wise, to " see but 
a very little way before us." We should, indeed, 
rejoice that we may leave all the events of the 
coming year, and of all future years, to a gracious 
God, who knows best what is best for us, and 
will order all things for the best for those who 
love and serve Him best. 

But while we do not know what events are to 
befall, we do know what is of ineffably more 
consequence, and this is the results of conduct. 
These are amply declared in God's holy book ; 
they are clearly revealed in the Saviour's mission ; 
they are brought home to every man's expe- 



804 OtJR IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE. 

rience in every conscious moment of his exist- 
ence. Let us reverently take counsel of them ; 
let us, thus instructed, use well every moment 
of life as it passes, and then we may dismiss all 
anxiety concerning what any day may bring 
forth. 

December 23d, 1845. 



SERMON XVIII. 



• 

UNDUE ANXIETY. 

SUFFICIENT FOR THE DAY IS THE EVIL THEREOF. — Matt. vi. 32. 

It is a low and narrow view of the Gospel to 
consider it as a scheme of duty and constraint 
alone, even in respect to this present life, while 
it refers its rewards exclusively to the life which 
is to come. It is a still lower and narrower view 
to regard it as unfriendly to present happiness, 
and as frowning upon and blighting those tran- 
sient joys which spring up and blossom in the 
pathways of our earthly pilgrimage. And it is 
the lowest and narrowest view of all to consider 
it as teaching that God's favor is to be won, or 
his wrath to be propitiated, by any gratuitous 
sufferings, uncalled-for self-denial, uncommanded 
austerities, or by any self-imposed penance of 
sighs, tears, and mental gloom. 

In opposition to all this, the Gospel of Jesus 
20 



306 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



Christ is what its name imports, tidings of good, 
a message of peace to earth and of love to 
man. It has equally the promise of the pres- 
ent life, and of the life to come. The whole 
burden of the Saviour's message is fraught with 
this divine beneficence. The grand object of all 
his instructions is, to reconcile the appropriate 
pursuits and pleasures of the life which now is, 
with the nobler pursuits and higher pleasures of 
the life eternal. It speaks of duty and respon- 
sibleness, indeed, throughout, and its tone is 
most solemn, uncompromising, and authorita- 
tive ; but it speaks not of duty for its own sake, 
but as a means of present as well as of future 
happiness. It claims to be the sole and suffi- 
cient guide to the eternal city, but it is by ways 
of pleasantness and by paths of peace. In a 
word, it would make us truly happy now, as 
the means and the only sure means of securing 
a better happiness hereafter. 

The text before us is a signal instance of this 
gracious arrangement. And this appears from 
the fact, that we are so constituted that our well- 
being mainly depends on the wise management 
of our prospective emotions. These compre- 
hend all our desires and fears, and are, therefore, 
the essential elements of action. These are far 
more engrossing than those which centre on the 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



307 



past or on the present. The employment of 
the passing hour is, ordinarily, a preparation for 
the hour approaching. In every stage of life, 
we look onward, either in hope or fear, to that 
which is to succeed, and the whole of life on 
earth we are taught to regard but as the com- 
mencement of a life which is to come. Indeed, 
the power and the desire to feel, think, and act 
with direct reference to consequences, near or 
remote, must be an essential and leading attri- 
bute of an immortal and accountable being. 
When this reference to the future is directed to 
happiness in prospect, it is called Hope. When 
it fastens on evils impending or supposed to be 
impending, it is called Fear. And both emo- 
tions, it is worthy of remark, opposite as they 
are in themselves, may arise from the same ob- 
jects ; since we may fear that we shall not gain 
an object of our hope, and we may hope to 
gain that which, nevertheless, we fear we shall 
not obtain ; and each emotion will prevail ac- 
cording to our apprehension of the probability 
of gain or loss. And as we train our imagina- 
tions to centre upon what is sunny or shady in 
the distance, so will be much of our usefulness 
and nearly all our happiness in the conduct of 
our life. The remark of the Saviour, M Suffi- 
cient for the day is the evil thereof," is in- 



308 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



tended as a caution or admonition against the 
undue indulgence of the emotion of fear. And 
\vhen we reflect that the wretchedness of not a 
small class of minds is occasioned by evils feared 
rather than by evils felt, — by fancied rather 
than by real troubles, — by a gratuitous dread 
of sufferings from which God intends to spare 
us, — in a word, by borrowed, to use a familiar 
term, rather than by entailed ills, — the deep 
significance of the Saviour's remark, " Sufficient 
for the day is the evil thereof," will clearly 
appear, and it will become a subject of grave 
and serious inquiry, What is the state of mind 
which it is our duty to maintain in regard to the 
future and contingent sufferings which may be- 
fall us? 

This, perhaps, may be best ascertained by in- 
quiring, in the first place, what solicitude in re- 
gard to the future is impliedly forbidden by the 
text ; and, in the second place, by adverting 
to the effects of this undue solicitude on our 
character and happiness. And if the discussion 
shall have the effect of relieving any mind from 
a habit of indulging in causeless inquietude and 
imaginary distress, or by aiding any more pa- 
tiently and cheerfully to bear the necessary bur- 
dens of life, the effort will indeed be blessed. 

It is almost gratuitous to premise that the 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 309 

language of the Saviour on this subject is to be 
taken with much qualification. He, whose great 
mission it was to render men wise betimes, and 
to live in habitual reference to future and dis- 
tant results, would be the last to teach the literal 
import of the words, " Take no thought for the 
morrow,' 7 or that any sufficiency of present evil 
should wholly exclude the thought of evil to 
come. He adopted, as was his custom, and 
thereby sanctioned, a proverbial expression cur- 
rent in his time, leaving it to be interpreted by 
the general import of his teachings, and by a 
thoughtful estimate of the condition of human 
life. ^ 

What, then, the inquiry recurs, are those fears 
and anxieties which are impliedly forbidden in 
the text ? They may be comprised under two 
general classes. In the first place, that which 
includes all those fears for which there is no 
sufficient ground in present circumstances ; in 
other words, all causeless fears. Those evils 
which, upon deliberate and mature consideration, 
appear to be impending over us, we are to do 
what we worthily may to avoid, and then se- 
renely trust the result to the Great Disposer of 
events. But we are not to take counsel solely 
of our fears. We are not to dwell on possible 
ills until, by a natural law of the mind, we are 



310 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



led to consider them first as probable, then as 
certain, and then as near. We are not to send 
out our busy thoughts to meet the calamity, and 
to help it on its way to us. " We are not," — to 
quote the words of a cheerful philosopher, who 
is not the less wise for being one of the wittiest of 
modern writers, — "we are not to meet trouble 
half-way, but let him have the whole walk for 
his pains." We are not to brood over the crea- 
tions of a morbid fancy, until we become inca- 
pable of distinguishing what are real from what 
are imaginary dangers. We are not to enshroud 
ourselves in a self-gathered darkness, until we 
cannot bear the light. We are not, by any per- 
verse moral necromancy, to conjure up spectres 
which will frighten us from the path of duty. 
We are not to dwell on evils which may befall 
us, until we are incapable of bearing, as Chris- 
tians ought, those which do. We are not to fill 
our onward paths with pitfalls, where none in 
fact exist. In a word, we are not, in a gratui- 
tous foreboding, to fix our gaze on floating 
specks of cloud in the distance, and call it 
night, when the full-orbed sun is still beaming 
upon us with light divine, and the whole broad 
arch of the firmament is glowing with the mag- 
nificence of God. 

And, in the next place, as we are not to 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



31L 



be unduly apprehensive on account of merely 
fancied calamities, so we are not to magnify the 
danger or degree of those which we have suffi- 
cient reason to fear. This is but a lower degree 
of the error just stated. We are not. causeless- 
ly, to magnify slight and distant dangers into 
those which are great and imminent. Many of 
us, in a retrospect of the past, may remember 
occasions when we have thus " disquieted our- 
selves in vain," when, by dwelling on dangers 
in prospect, we have so magnified the evil that 
we have shrunk from it in dismay, but which, 
the result has proved, was not difficult to be 
borne, or was rendered light by alleviating cir- 
cumstances, or was fraught, as the tempest- 
clouds are, with blessings which the serenest 
day could not bestow. Our property, for exam- 
ple, may have been endangered, and we have, at 
once, despaired of it as lost. Oar friends may 
have left us, and we have felt the separation as 
final. Our confidence has been abused, and a 
dark distrust of all human fidelity has settled, 
like a death-blight, on our spirits. Sickness 
may have entered our dwellings, and we have 
viewed it as the inevitable precursor of dissolu- 
tion. Death may have selected one victim from 
our circle, and we may have regarded all as 
marked by his fatal dart. Our own health may 



i 312 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



have faltered, and we have wrapped ourselves 
prematurely in the winding-sheet, and gone, un- 
called for. to lay ourselves down in the dream- 
less slumber of the grave. 

Such are some familiar examples of the mis- 
takes we are liable to make in those emotions 
which antedate future ills, and which our Sav- 
iour impliedly rebukes in the words, " Suffi- 
cient for the day is the evil thereof.*' We err 
if we indulge imaginary fears ; and we err. too. 
scarcely less, if we gratuitously magnify the 
danger of those which we have reason to appre- 
hend. 

I proceed now to point out some of the effects 
of this habit of mind upon character and hap- 
piness. 

In the first place, it is useless, utterly use- 
less. Our reluctancy or our fears cannot check 
or alter the course of God's providence. What 
He has appointed we must bear. No anxieties, 
no forebodings, no trouble of mind, no prayers, 
no tears of ours, can arrest or alter, for an in- 
stant, the appointed order of things. They are 
all at a higher disposal. We are helpless here, 
and it only remains for us to submit, resign, and 
adore. " Which of you,*' asks the Saviour. " by 
taking thought," — that is, over-anxious thought, 
— " can add one cubit unto his stature ? " All 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



313 



our unfounded solicitude, all undue fears of diffi- 
culty and distress, are only forms of self-imposed 
wretchedness and gratuitous distress, suicidal in 
their nature and useless in their effects. 

Nay, further, they are worse than useless. 
They are not only idle and vain in themselves, 
but are to be avoided as sinful, since their effect 
is unfriendly to a moral and spiritual state of the 
character. 

And this appears, first, from the fact, that the 
indulgence of them interferes with a proper and 
faithful performance of the incumbent duties of 
life. These duties must be performed, if per- 
formed at all, in the ever-fleeting present time. 
But what is this present ? We divide time into 
cycles, eras, centuries, years, months, days, and 
hours. But none of these are, strictly speaking, 
present. They have gone, or have not come. 
What, then, is the present ? Is it the passing 
moment ? No. Much of this is divisible into 
the past and the future. What, then, is the 
present ? It is that millionth part of the fleeting 
instant that is measured by the slightest act of 
consciousness. This is our only now. All else 
was, or is to be. And therefore it is, that all 
of duty is to be fulfilled, and character formed, 
and heaven lost or won, in this little, evanishing 
now. The talent which is passing through our 



314 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



hand then must be then improved, or it is lost 
or worse than lost for ever. But how can it be 
then improved, if our minds are preoccupied by 
fearful forebodings of what the future may 
bring ? The infinitely small and rapid present 
which in every successive period of mortal life 
alone is ours will be thus virtually annihilated, 
and all the priceless opportunities of moral and 
religious improvement of this probationary state 
sacrificed, in this engrossing dread of future evils ; 
and of evils, too, — and how does this thought 
aggravate the folly and the sin ! — of evils, too, 
which God, in his providence, never intends to 
lay upon us. 

And this is not all. It is a further aggravation 
of this folly and sin, that this habit of antedat- 
ing the miseries of our lot, like all other habits, 
naturally gains strength by indulgence. There 
are no limits to the vagaries of a diseased im- 
agination ; and the more shocking the spectres 
are which it raises in our onward path, the more 
closely, according to an innate law of the mind, 
will they seem to haunt us. This fearful and 
dismal frame of mind will thus become the pre- 
vailing one. Hope, a just confidence in the 
powers of action and endurance which God has 
bestowed upon us, will be, by no slow degrees, 
impaired ; there will soon be left no spring 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



315 



of vigorous effort in the mind, no light and 
strength of good purposes ; every real difficulty 
will be magnified by a perverse creation of imag- 
inary ills ; and the result will naturally be, and 
we all may have seen examples of it more or less 
prevalent, a total incapacity for all the earnest 
purposes of life, a tremulous, repining, hopeless 
state of mind, or a blank and nerveless despair. 

But not only is the mind thus enfeebled and 
crippled in its free action, but it is to be ob- 
served that each conscious moment has its ap- 
pointed duty ; and sufficient for the day are the 
real and incumbent duties thereof. But how are 
these to be faithfully performed, if they are load- 
ed and encumbered by all the possible and im- 
possible evils and trials that a sick, and therefore 
perverse, fancy may call out of the unknown 
abyss of the future ? 

Again, this undue anxiety is worse than worth- 
less, since its direct tendency is to blight the 
innocent happiness of life, and to render the 
heart, in consequence, cold and thankless in the 
reception of God's gracious gifts. It is His w r ill 
concerning us, as I began by saying, that we 
should be happy. All the provisions of nature, 
providence, and grace look singly and solely to 
this result. Shall we, then, causelessly and per- 
versely allow ourselves to defeat, so far as we 



316 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



are concerned, this gracious plan, by indulging 
a timid, foreboding frame of mind, which dashes, 
as with poison, all the pure springs of happiness, 
and renders life itself but one long and shudder- 
ing flight from imaginary evils. And if we do, 
how shall we be able to render to God that trib- 
ute of soul-felt gratitude which is the only fitting 
return we can make for His ceaseless goodness ? 
How can we even see the gracious perfections 
of God, if we only look upon them through eyes 
bedimmed with tears ? 

Again, this undue anxiety is worse than worth- 
less, because it necessarily implies, and by indul- 
gence naturally increases more and more, an 
unchristian distrust in the kind and watchful 
providence of God. With what unearthly beauty 
and power of language is this thought enforced 
by the Saviour, in connection with the words of 
the text ! He calls upon the animate and inani- 
mate world to bear witness to God's bounteous 
and untiring care, and follows all this up with 
that heart-touching appeal. O ye distrustful ! 
O ye who are God's primal care ! O ye who were 
created in His image ! O ye who are destined 
to more than an earthly life ! O ye who are only 
lower than the angels of heaven, and like them 
are destined to live in and enjoy God's nearer 
presence for ever! How much more will He 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



317 



care for you than for the lilies of the field, which 
are but for a day, or for the birds of the air, 
whose lives are as short and transient as their 
flight ! What a perverse, what a wicked thing 
it is for men who are thus surrounded by millions 
of emblems of God's kind providence, and are 
thus called upon by all the voices of earth and 
heaven to love and trust their God and cast all 
their cares upon Him, as upon one who is ever 
watchful for them, to live as if there were no 
such God, — virtually as atheists ! 

And yet, again, this undue anxiety in respect 
to the future is worse than worthless, on account 
of its effect upon others. How can our faith in 
the gracious revelations of the Gospel operate 
benignly upon the improvement and happiness of 
others, when we plainly show, by our own con- 
duct, that it has no efficacy in insuring our own ? 
How, it may well be asked, is your condition, 
ye professed Christians, with all your vaunted 
grounds of faith and trust, better than that of 
us heathenish worldlings and scoffing skeptics ? 
Your Christian armour, after all, seems but a 
poor protection against the evils of life. It is 
evident that you, yourselves, have no reliance 
upon it, since you are alarmed at the very first 
glimpse of dangers ; nay, you shrink in terror 
from those which have no existence but in your 
panic-stricken imagination. 



338 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



And this foreboding state of mind is worse 
than useless in regard to others, for another rea- 
son. None of us, and it is a remark of deep 
practical import, can suffer alone. God has 
made each of us the centre of many sympathies, 
and our distress, however imaginary it may be 
in its nature, will not be less real in its effect on 
those who are interested for us. Let, then, an 
affectionate and watchful care for their happiness, 
as well as for our own, excite us to control, so 
far as God may help us to do so, this causeless 
wretchedness. 

But let not these remarks be taken without an 
allowance which it would be equally unjust and 
unkind to withhold. This unduly apprehensive 
state of mind is sometimes an unavoidable part 
of that discipline which God lays upon us. It is 
sometimes the result of a peculiar arrangement of 
our physical frames, sometimes of natural tem- 
perament, sometimes of personal infirmity, some- 
times of disease, sometimes of crushing disap- 
pointment, sometimes of the repeated visitations 
of God's chastening hand. Now the soul must 
sympathize with its frail tenement. The " harp 
of thousand strings " is liable to frequent jarrings. 
Our frames must falter when taxed beyond their 
strength. Our affections must bleed when they 
are harshly bruised. The heart must tremble 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



319 



when it is severely stricken. In all such cases, 
this foreboding state of mind is to be regarded 
rather as a misfortune than as a sin. Misfortune ! 
Yes, indeed it is a misfortune, compared with 
which all the ordinary ills of life are light as the 
" small dust of the balance. 5 ' It is, then, to be 
received as a part of our appointed trial, which, 
though it may be the severest that our Heavenly 
Father lays upon poor human nature, is yet of 
His appointment, and being His, cannot but be 
ordered in wisdom and in love. Let those who 
are thus called to suffer be assured, too, that this 
mode of trial has its appointed limits, as well as 
its appointed purpose ; that God tempers even 
this allotment in mercy. The bruised reed He 
will not break. He knows all our physical in- 
firmities, all the hidden sources of this distress, — 
all our unutterable and to ourselves often inscru- 
table feelings of despondency and fear, but which, 
nevertheless, enthrall and cripple our energies, 
throw a pall over the fair face of day, render the 
past one long accusing record, and spread a ray- 
less gloom over the future. He knows all these 
things, and, thanks to His gracious name, though 
they may meet with small sympathy here below 
and from those around us, He — He, the heart- 
seeing God — will make allowance for them all. 
How full, then, of wisdom and of consolation 



320 



UNDUE ANXIETY. 



is the assurance of the Saviour, " Sufficient for 
the day is the evil thereof." Let it serve to 
guard us against a willing or weak indulgence in 
all groundless and excessive fears, for they are 
vain, or worse than vain. Their least bad effect 
is to render us gratuitously wretched, while they 
tend to impair our love and gratitude towards 
God : both indicate and increase a want of trust 
in His gracious care, and shed a withering influ- 
ence on the virtue and happiness of those around 
us. Let us u be afraid, then, of being too much 
afraid/' Let us feel habitually, that the Chris- 
tian's duty is intended to be a delightful service 
of that Master whose service is the best, whose 
restraints, truly understood, are all privileges, 
whose trials even are a gracious discipline of 
love, and all whose precepts are intended to se- 
cure our happiness here, and to secure this happi- 
ness here as a means of securing our blessedness 
hereafter. 



December 23d, 1845, 



DUDLEIAN LECTURE, 



REVIEW OF THE ARGUMENT IN SUPPORT OF 
NATURAL RELIGION. 

The subject of this Lecture, as stated in the 
words of its founder, is as follows : — " The 
proving, explaining, and proper use and improve- 
ment of the principles of Natural Religion, as it 
is commonly called and understood by divines 
and learned men." 

It is sufficiently obvious, that it is wholly 
beyond the limits and appropriate uses of this 
occasion to attempt any thing approaching to a 
literal fulfilment of these requisitions. They 
involve inquiries and discussions of vast extent, 
of great intricacy, and of unspeakable impor- 
tance. I have been, therefore, greatly embar- 
rassed in ascertaining in what way the claims of 
the duty before me may be best met. I would 
not willingly occupy the hour in giving, what, 
from the nature of the case, must be a meagre 
21 



322 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

abstract of the labors of others, and what may 
be far more profitably sought in the original 
works ; and it must be a hopeless effort to sug- 
gest a course of remark, which has any just 
claims to originality, on a theme so familiar and 
worn as this. The science, moreover, is re- 
markable for the simplicity of its principles, 
while its topics of illustration are as vast and 
various as the works of God. But to state these 
principles merely in their naked, logical form 
would be little interesting to that part of the 
audience for whose benefit this lecture was 
primarily intended ; and to fill up the time with 
mere illustrations of these principles, however 
interesting they might be, would hardly comport 
with the dignity of the occasion and place. 
And there is another circumstance, of which it 
is proper to forewarn you. The elements of the 
science lie among the most familiar truths, which 
we receive and act upon in every conscious 
moment of our lives. But, as they have been 
denied or questioned by the impugners of the 
science, it is necessary for its advocate to place 
himself in the undesirable position of appearing 
to state, with some elaborateness and emphasis, 
certain facts, which, it should seem, no man of 
sane mind could for a moment question. 

Feeling, then, the full pressure of these diffi- 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 323 

culties, and with no very sanguine hope of 
avoiding them, I address myself to the duty be- 
fore me. It will be my general object to pre- 
sent to you such a view of the subject as will 
serve to show the place it occupies, or, rather, 
which it ought to occupy, at the present day, 
among the serious inquiries of serious minds. 
And, in furtherance of this end, I shall first at- 
tempt to speak of the kind of reasoning by 
which the great truths of Natural Theology are 
ascertained ; and then apply this kind of reason- 
ing to the establishment of some of the leading 
truths or principles of the science. 

I. And, first, I make a distinct topic of the 
kind of reasoning by which the great truths of 
Natural Religion are ascertained ; because it is 
precisely here that the science has suffered, and 
suffered, too, perhaps, equally at the hands of its 
enemies and of its friends. A kind of reasoning 
has been resorted to, which will be found on 
strict examination, I apprehend, either to be un- 
sound in itself, or else to be inapplicable to the 
subject, and, on both accounts, to be utterly un- 
satisfactory. I refer to the abstract arguments 
in proof of the truths of Natural Theology, or 
to reasonings called a priori, or, in other words, 
those which proceed on certain metaphysical 
propositions, which are assumed as axioms. 



324 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

I regret that only some brief hints can now 
be offered on this part of the subject, since the 
argument requires that it should be carefully 
elaborated. If I do not err, however, these hints 
will be found to be results, that will commend 
themselves to the mind after the strictest exam- 
ination. 

1. And my first remark is, that these abstract 
arguments are objectionable, in reference to the 
subject before us, because they virtually assume 
the point to be proved. Thus, for instance, one 
of the axioms which has been taken for granted 
in proving that the universe must have had an 
author is, that " every effect must have a cause. 75 
This is undoubtedly true ; but it will avail little 
with those who deny that the universe is an 
effect, as did, among others, the somewhat noto- 
rious author of the " Academical Questions/' 
Again, it is assumed as an axiom, that whatever 
;i begins to exist must have had a cause of its 
existence." This, of course, will be admitted 
by most persons ; but it will have no pertinency 
with those who assert that the universe is eter- 
nal, and the creative power, whatever it be, only 
plastic, as did the Epicurean philosophers of 
antiquity, and their followers, under different 
names, in modern times. Again, it is main- 
tained, with perfect justness, that every con- 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 325 

trivance must have had a contriver ; but this is 
wholly irrelevant in an argument with him who 
denies that there is any proof of contrivance or 
design any further than the particular instance 
of it in question is concerned, as did Mr. Hume. 
And again, it is a generally admitted axiom, that 
N nothing can be a cause of its own existence " : 
but it will conclude little against him who as- 
serts that the world is an exception to this gen- 
eral rule, — it being self-existent, as Spinoza 
maintained. The celebrated argument of Locke, 
which you will find in his " Essay," will be 
found, I am afraid, to be liable to the same re- 
mark. I may not stop to quote it at length. 
Suffice it to say, that it seems to lie open to the 
objection of taking for granted certain principles 
of causation, of which we know nothing. It is 
difficult, indeed, for one to perceive how that 
which thinks should proceed from that which 
does not think, as he asserts. But it is not more 
difficult, perhaps, than it is to perceive how that 
which does not think should proceed from that 
which does. And the far-famed argument of 
Dr. Clarke against an infinite series of causes, 
for which he claimed the cogency of mathemat- 
ical proof, seems to revolve in a like vicious 
circle. Closely examined, it appears to amount 
to this : — There can be no existence without a 



326 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

cause ; therefore there must have been an exist- 
ence without a cause ; since the first cause into 
which he resolves the alleged infinite series of 
causes must be self-existent, that is, without a 
cause. By argument, then, derived from ab- 
stract causation, the atheist can never be con- 
futed ; for his answer is always ready at hand, 
that, if the Deity can exist uncaused, the uni- 
verse may. Besides all this, of causation, con- 
sidered as an efficient agent, we know nothing, 
as I have alreadv observed. Our whole knowl- 
edge, in this respect, is limited to the succession 
of phenomena. 

Such is the inherent defect of all argumenta- 
tion a priori, as it is called, for the great primal 
truth of Natural Theology, the existence of a 
God. It involves, so far as it proceeds on purely 
abstract or metaphysical principles, what the 
logicians call a circular sophism. It will be 
found, on close analysis, to proceed on some 
assumption of the truth contended for. 

2. In the next place, this abstract or meta- 
physical argument, or reasoning a priori, is 
totally inapplicable to the subject in question. 
By its very nature it is confined solely to the 
necessary and immutable relations which subsist 
among our notions or ideas. It is wholly inde- 
pendent of all facts, and cannot be applied to 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 327 

the authentication of any fact. It is founded 
on an assumed axiom, or on an hypothesis, or 
definition, and has no reference whatsoever to 
questions of real existence. All that can be 
demonstrated of any mathematical figure or 
quantity, or of any abstract relation, would be 
equally true, though this figure or quantity, or 
abstract relation, whatever it may be, never had, 
nor ever shall have, a prototype in the world. 
It is obvious, then, that reasoning of this kind 
on any question which involves a fact, or a sub- 
ject of real existence, is out of place. But the 
question, whether or not Deity exists, is a ques- 
tion of fact. It is not a necessary or intuitive 
truth. It cannot be demonstrated, using the 
term here in its strict meaning, that God must 
be ; and it cannot be demonstrated that the con- 
trary supposition involves an absurdity ; which 
are the marks of necessary or metaphysical 
truth. # It is equally impossible to prove or dis- 



* See this topic admirably treated by Dr. Crombie, (Natural 
Theology, or Essay, &c., 2 vols. 8vo. London, 1829,) to whom, 
together with some of the leading English Reviews of the work, 
I cheerfully acknowledge my obligations in this part of the 
Lecture. See also the remarks of Dr. Thomas Brown (Lecture 
XCII.), where the same or similar views are presented, and the 
reasoning here adverted to is considered as "relics of the verbal 
logic of the schools." And Dugald Stewart, after saying that 
M the argument a priori has been enforced with singular ingenu- 



328 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 



prove the existence of Deity by this species of 
evidence. It is a fact, as I hope to show, which 
is sustained by the highest possible moral evi- 
dence, — evidence which no sound and unbi- 
ased mind can resist ; but it is not to be deter- 
mined by metaphysical proof : and for the sim- 
ple reason, that it is a question which, from its 
very nature, does not admit of this species of 
evidence. This metaphysical or abstract mode 
of reasoning, then, has no more connection with 
the truths of Natural Theology, (which, be it 
repeated, are facts or questions of actual exist- 

ity by Dr. Clarke, " ventures, in his cautious manner, to add : — 
" Without calling in question the solidity of Clarke's demon- 
stration, we may be allowed to say, that the argument a poste- 
riori is more level to the comprehension of ordinary men, and 
satisfactory to the philosopher himself." (Outlines of Moral 
Philosophy, 8vo. p. 174, Edinburgh, 1818.) Bishop Berkeley, 
too, virtually takes the same ground, by leaving the objection 
against this application of metaphysical arguments, as urged by 
the skeptic Alciphron, unanswered ; and by giving him, more- 
over, in the person of Euphranor, that proof of " fact " which 
he demanded. All this part of the Dialogue is a beautiful 
specimen of the Socratic mode of argumentation. The objector 
is led, by a series of necessary admissions, to acknowledge that 
we have the same or greater proof of the being of a God, than 
we have of the existence of the person w T ith whom we are con- 
versing face to face. (Minute Philosopher, Dial. IV.) And, 
indeed, all reasonings of this kind, applied to the great facts of 
Natural Theology, have been, not unaptly, compared to the ap- 
plication of a lamp to a sun-dial, in the night-time, to ascertain 
the hour. 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 329 

ence,) than the mystical numbers of Pythagoras 
have with the science of arithmetic ; or than the 
laws of judicial astrology have with the true the- 
ory of the solar system ; or than the syllogistic 
modes of reasoning have with the interpretation 
of the laws of the material universe ; or than the 
rules for constructing logarithmic tables have 
with a theory of taste. 

3. I observe, in the third place, that this mode 
of reasoning a priori, applied to the science of 
Natural Theology, is unsatisfactory. It is not, 
indeed, strange that this should be the case, if, 
as I have attempted to show, it covertly takes for 
granted the thing to be proved ; and amounts, 
when examined, to little more than a mere ver- 
bal logic ; and is, moreover, wholly inapplicable, 
and out of place, in this inquiry. It may well 
be doubted if any man's faith in the truths in 
question was ever established by this species of 
reasoning. The remark which has been applied 
to the system of Berkeley, in which, as you 
know, he questions the actual existence of the 
material universe, seems peculiarly appropriate 
. to this kind of reasoning, even in its most effec- 
tive form, namely, that, admitting the premises, 
it is equally impossible to prove it to be false, or 
believe it to be true. Dr. Clarke, before alluded 
to, the most distinguished of its advocates, con- 



330 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

fessed to a friend,* that any worthless weed in 
his garden contained better arguments for the 
being and attributes of God than all his meta- 
physics ; and that he resorted to it merely that 
he might meet the atheistic philosophers on their 
own ground. But with deference it may be 
suggested, whether it would not have been pref- 
erable to show these skeptics, that, in this their 
favorite mode of impugning the truths of Natural 
Theology, they had no ground whatever to stand 
upon. Dr. Reid, after quoting this distinguished 
author's argument respecting space and time, 
which was probably suggested to him by a pas- 
sage in the Principia of Newton, observes : — 
" These are the speculations of men of superior 
genius ; but whether they be as solid as they are 
sublime, or whether they be the wanderings of 
imagination in a region beyond the limits of hu- 
man understanding, I am unable to determine.' 5 
I suppose that most accurate thinkers will be of 
the same opinion as Dr. Reid on this subject. 

4. My last objection to reasonings a priori on 
the subject before us is, that they not only seem, 
for the reasons stated, to be useless, but it is 
apprehended that they are worse than useless. 
They not only do nothing to enforce conviction, 



* Mr. Whiston. See Whiston's Memoirs. 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 331 

but serve, on the whole, and in the ultimate re- 
sult, to perplex, bewilder, confuse, and to prevent 
the inquirer from appreciating the full force of 
those arguments by which the science is sus- 
tained. The inference will naturally be, that a 
subject which requires such difficult and shadowy 
processes of proof for its support must be, in 
itself, so exceedingly abstract and recondite as to 
baffle ordinary powers of comprehension. And 
if, as has, I think, been shown, this course of 
reasoning is attended with the further disadvan- 
tage, that conclusions true in themselves are 
founded on false premises, it is hardly to be 
avoided, that, when this fallacy is detected, the 
error of the process should be visited upon the 
conclusion. Thus it may happen that principles, 
entirely true and inexpressibly important, may 
suffer from the misdirected ingenuity of their 
advocates. The great truths of Natural Theolo- 
gy, though not intuitively certain, are yet only 
removed by a single step from what is so ; and 
this, moreover, is a step so short and easily taken, 
that a plain man, who deals honestly with him- 
self, and " carries," as Locke says, " himself about 
him," can no more doubt of these truths than of 
his own existence. But if he attempt to make 
this process clearer, or his convictions stronger, 
by a series of abstract or metaphysical argumen- 



332 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

tation, or insist upon having a reason when a 
reason has been given, he will only involve him- 
self in a jargon of merely wordy logic. And thus, 
in " endless mazes lost," he will be in great dan- 
ger of loosing his hold on the only true founda- 
tions of his belief, and, taking, in the often quoted 
lines of the Dunciad, 

" the high priori road, 
Will reason downward till he doubts of God," 

I here dismiss this part of the subject. Dry and 
uninviting as, I am aware, it is, it is neverthe- 
less indispensable that it should be rightly under- 
stood. The very first object of the student in 
Natural Theology, as in every other subject of 
liberal inquiry, should be, to fix clearly in his 
mind the precise nature of that evidence and 
that mode of reasoning of which the subject- 
matter admits. And nothing, in respect to Nat- 
ural Theology, so distinctly and favorably marks 
the progress of modern inquiry as the labors of 
its advocates on this point. To these, at the 
imminent risk of appearing obscure and uninter- 
esting, I have thus summarily adverted. Our 
path, it may now be hoped, leads onward to 
more smiling fields of research. 

Leaving, then, for the reasons assigned, the 
metaphysical or a priori argument entirely out 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 333 

of view, I now proceed to point out the nature 
of that reasoning by which the leading truths of 
Natural Theology are to be sustained. 

And this, as I apprehend, is the inductive mode 
of reasoning. The truths to be ascertained are, 
as I have said, facts, not abstract relations, not 
conclusions deduced from axioms, or definitions, 
or arbitrarily assumed premises of any kind ; but 
facts, substantive facts, which, of course, are to 
be established by the same process of reasoning 
by which the facts of natural philosophy, or any 
other facts, are established. That a being whom 
we call God, or Deity, exists, is a proposition to 
be proved, in the same way as the proposition 
that a certain law of relative forces reigns among 
the orbs of the planetary system ; — namely, by 
that great organ or instrument of inquiry called 
the inductive process of reasoning ; whose prin- 
ciples were first fully developed by Lord Bacon, 
and which, carried into effect by Newton and 
succeeding inquirers, has established all we know 
of those generalized facts which are denominated 
the laws of nature. 

But before applying this mode of reasoning to 
the subject before us, it is necessary to advert, 
for a moment, to its essential principles ; since 
these, it should seem, have been neither clearly 
understood nor accurately applied by writers 



334 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

eminently philosophical in other respects. The 
inductive process of reasoning, as I understand it, 
consists of two parts or divisions, entirely dis- 
tinct from each other, though often confounded 
together, both of which are necessary to the re- 
sult. The one is the investigation of similar or 
analogous phenomena ; and the other is an infer- 
ence, from them, of a general fact or principle, 
which, being thus ascertained, may be applied 
in all analogous cases. It rests ultimately on the 
perception of similitude. It is capable, under all 
circumstances, like every other sound process of 
reasoning, of being expressed in a syllogistic 
form, though this is not at all necessary to its 
effective use. Thus, to quote a familiar example, 
from the observation of certain analogous facts 
in respect to falling bodies, near the earth's sur- 
face, Newton ascertained the law" or general fact 
according to which the movements of the solar 
system are governed. It is thus we proceed 
from what is known to what is unknown ; and, 
where the investigation of facts is sufficiently 
ample and sufficiently accurate, the deduction or 
inference from them is irresistible. 

This, then, is the process of inquiry called 
induction. And now it is to be particularly ob- 
served, that this mode of reasoning is as appli- 
cable to moral subjects, to facts relating to the 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 335 



moral and intellectual nature of man, and to the 
manner and issues of human conduct, as to ma- 
terial things.* Thus, for example, it is a fact, 
that, in all the aspects and circumstances of hu- 
man agency, wherever we see examples of order, 
beauty, harmony, and concurrence of means to 
ends, we infer that intelligence is the producing 
cause. This, I say, is a fact, — not a suppo- * 
sition, not a theory, but an outright, obvious 
f ac t ? — a fact exemplified in all our experience, 
and true in all circumstances. Here, then, the 
process of induction, so far as it depends upon the 
investigation of similar or analogous phenomena, 



* This position is sufficiently obvious. But it is gratifying to 
find it, while this Lecture is passing to the press, distinctly 
taken by Lord Brougham, in his recent Discourse on Natural 
Theology, originally intended, in connection with illustrations 
by Sir Charles Bell, to be inserted in a new and cheap edition of 
Paley's work on this subject. " It follows," says he, " that the 
constitution and functions of the mind are as much the subjects 
of inductive reasoning and investigation as the structure and 
actions of matter." — p. 40, Am. edit. 12mo. Again, " This 
science (Natural Theology) is strictly a branch of inductive phi- 
losophy, formed and supported by the same kind of reasoning 
upon which the physical and psychological sciences are found- 
ed." — p. 17. And speaking of the a priori argument, the same 
author observes, that not only are the truths in question not 
necessary truths, but that the a priori argument itself, as applied 
to these truths, when analyzed, will be found to be nothing 
more than an imperfect process of induction, that is, an induction 
from a too limited number of facts. — Section IV. 



336 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

is as ample and perfect as possible. Now, if it 
can be shown, that, in the works of nature, or in 
the material universe around us, order, beauty, 
harmony, and concurrence of means to ends pre- 
vail, which are precisely similar to those which, 
in human concerns, are uniformly connected with 
mind or intelligence, as their producing cause, — 
• then the inference is irresistible, that these, in 
like manner, must be referred to mind or intelli- 
gence as their producing cause.* 

II. And here a range of illustration opens upon 
us that may strictly be called infinite. If I 
deemed it necessary to the argument to enter 
upon it, I should not know where to begin ; and 
if I had the powers of the highest archangel who 
"bends and burns" before the throne of the 
Eternal, I should not know where to stop. But 
this illustration cannot be necessary, and, in an 
especial manner, it cannot be necessary to those 
whom I address. It is to be found in every thing 
that we behold, and it opens more and more upon 
the mind in precise proportion as its capacity of 
accurate observation is increased. It is, happily, 



* " When the philosophy of causes and the metaphysical rea- 
soning of the schools shall be completely banished from Theol- 
ogy, as they have already been from physical inquiry, the 
doctrine of Theism will be consistently denied by those only 
who reject the Principia of Newton." — Quarterly Review, above 
referral to. 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 337 

characteristic of the modern literature on this 
subject, that it dwells principally on these alleged 
tokens of intelligence in the universe ; * and the 
discoveries of modern science have made these 
researches peculiarly rich and attractive. To 
these I refer you, with the single remark, that, 
if you can find undoubted examples of order, 
beauty, harmony, and concurrence of means to 
ends in the material universe, then it follows 
that the atheist is reduced to the desperate alter- 
native, either of denying that those appearances 
of order, beauty, harmony, and concurrence of 
means to ends which are found in the works of 
men's hands are proofs of an intelligence ade- 
quate to the effect ; or of admitting that similar 
appearances which are found in the great scheme 
of the material universe are proofs of an intelli- 
gence adequate to the effect. And if, further, 
order, beauty, harmony, and concurrence of 
means to ends, in the material world, be thus a 



* There is a wide difference between the courses pursued by 
the ancient and modern skeptics on this subject. The former 
granted that design might be inferred from its effects, but denied 
that there were any appearances of design in the universe. The 
latter admit that design may be thus inferred from effects, but 
deny that there is any ground for making this inference of de- 
sign so as to involve the existence of an Infinite Designer. 
This change has, obviously, been rendered necessary by the 
progress of modern investigations in natural science. 

22 



33S THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

proof of intelligence; so is the character that pre- 
vails throughout these phenomena a proof of the 
character of their author : for so we necessarily 
conclude in regard to the same results in human 
affairs. If they exhibit power, then author is 
powerful. If they exhibit wisdom, their author 
is wise. If they exhibit goodness, their author 
is good. And if they exhibit all these in an in- 
finite, that is, in an indefinite degree, their au- 
thor is infinite in power, in wisdom, and in 
goodness. — that is. he is God. 

It will be observed, that, in presenting to you 
this argument, I have made no use of the com- 
mon terms plan and planner, contrivance and 
contriver, design and designer. And I have 
advisedly and studiously done this, that I might 
avoid that precise objection which the atheists of 
modern times, and particularly Mr, Hume, have 
strenuously urged. Unlike the ancient skeptics, 
we admit, say they, that contrivance implies a 
contriver, design a designer : but we deny that 
there is contrivance, that there is design, at least 
to the degree claimed. They thus resolve the 
argument of such beautiful books as the "Natu- 
ral Theology*' of Paley, and the Bridge water 
Treatises " of "Whewell and Sir Charles Bell, and 
all others of a similar character, into a circular 
sophism, or a taking for granted the thing to be 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 339 



proved. Now. how is this objection of theirs to 
be met ? It will signify nothing to assert what 
is thus denied, however indisputable it may seem 
to us. Of efficient causes, or a necessary con- 
nection between successive events, or of causa- 
tion, considered as an agent, we know nothing, 
as these objectors, and many other more accurate 
thinkers than they, truly assert. But it does not 
follow from this, that we have no sufficient evi- 
dence that order, beauty, harmony, and the con- 
currence of means to ends must proceed from 
intelligence and design. On the contrary, we 
have the most decisive evidence possible of this 
fact, namely, in all our own direct and immediate 
experience and observation in human affairs. 
And here it is we obtain the idea and establish 
the principle of design and contrivance, and that, 
too, by the amplest and most exact investigation 
and comparison of phenomena possible. And 
having thus obtained it, we apply it. as I have 
shown, by an unquestionable and certain process 
of inductive reasoning, to the phenomena of cre- 
ation. And if it be still asked, why it is that we 
ascribe this order, beauty, harmony, and concur- 
rence of means to ends to intelligence, to design. 
I answer, that it is an ultimate fact in our na- 
tures. We are so constituted that we cannot 
help doing so, without disavowing and denying 



340 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION, 

all our rational powers, and therefore, and there- 
by, putting ourselves out of the question on this 
subject. And if any one chooses thus to stultify 
himself that he may become a champion of athe- 
ism, this must, if he insist upon it, be granted to 
him ; but he is then, obviously, no longer enti- 
tled to be heard, as a rational being, by rational 
men, on a question like this. 

The existence of Deity, again, and the leading 
truths of Natural Theology, may be, and have 
repeatedly been, shown by the inductive mode 
of reasoning, applied in a different manner. It is 
to a single, though somewhat extended, illustra- 
tion I shall now confine myself, and shall reduce 
it to as narrow limits as possible. I address 
myself to it in this way. 

Constant and multiplied experience assures us, 
that in all sentient creatures, beneath the rank of 
man, every organ has its appropriate function ; 
every function its appropriate object ; every in- 
stinct its appropriate use, and sphere of exercise. 
I need not dwell on so plain a fact as this. It is 
well known as one of the great triumphs of mod- 
ern science, in the department of comparative 
anatomy, that, from almost any single bone, a 
skilled naturalist will determine, without the 
possibility of mistake, whether the animal of 
which it originally made a part belonged to the 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 341 



earth, or air, or water : whether it fed on fruits, 
or flesh, or both ; and what were its particular 
configuration, habits, and modes of life. Indeed, 
it is well known, that, in this manner, the figures 
of very numerous animals, that were extinct ages 
before the present crust of our planet was formed, 
have been reconstructed ; and that thus we are 
furnished with an authentic history of the forms 
which animal life has taken, from its first ele- 
mentary movements in the lowest radiated spe- 
cies (the coralline animals, for example, — which 
are found deep down among the foundations of 
the present earth), upwards through its continu- 
ally more and more elaborated forms, to its hith- 
erto most perfect manifestations in the human 
race. But how is this effected ? By what mode 
of investigation is it, that these facts are indubi- 
tably established ? What is the process of rea- 
soning, by which all inquirers qualified to judge 
are satisfied of the truth of these facts ? It is by 
that same process of inductive reasoning to which 
I have already adverted. It is a fact, ascertained 
from a satisfactory number of examples, that ani- 
mals of a certain structure have peculiar habits ; 
that these habits, in all cases, imply certain in- 
stincts : and that these instincts are invariably 
accompanied with their appropriate organs, and 
placed in their appropriate spheres of gratifica- 



342 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 



tion. But can we suppose that this correspond- 
ence between the nature and condition of the 
lower animals is confined to them ? Are they 
alone privileged in this ? Is it with respect to 
them alone that we are authorized to infer that 
there must be an adaptation between the inher- 
ent principles of their constitution and the cir- 
cumstances in which they are placed ? Is man, 
for example, of all created beings, the only one 
whose inherent and essential capacities are to 
remain undeveloped, his necessary desires unpro- 
vided for, the absolute claims of his structure 
unsupplied ? Are the instincts of his higher na- 
ture the only ones which are to be disappointed 
and baffled ? Is all that is especially characteris- 
tic of man, as man, to be foiled in its obvious 
end and aim ? This will appear as irreconcilable 
with the true spirit of philosophizing, as it is 
abhorrent to all the natural sentiments of our 
hearts. On the contrary, we are obliged, and 
that, too, by the very constitution of our natures, 
to infer, in respect to man, as in reference to all 
other beings known to us, that all his powers, all 
his capacities, all the inherent principles of his 
being, are indicative of his true condition and 
destiny. And if there be, therefore, any of these 
which can find no adequate objects here, but 
demand, so to speak, another and a higher sphere 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 343 



of action, we are obliged to conclude, by every 
principle of sound philosophy, that there is such 
a sphere of action, where these claims shall be 
met and answered. 

What, then, is the true condition of man in 
this respect ? In the answer to this inquiry will 
be seen the application of this course of argu- 
ment to the subject before us. 

And here I take distinctly the position, that 
man is essentially a religious being. * I do not 
mean by this, merely that he is made capable of 
directing his thoughts, at will, to religious sub- 
jects ; or of yielding, occasionally, to religious 
impressions : or of performing, at certain times, 
specific devotional acts ; but that a recognition 
of God, as the august Author of his being : a con- 
viction of dependence and reliance upon Him, as 
the Sovereign Dispenser of his lot : a feeling of 
accountableness to Him as a moral agent ; and a 
sense of his relations to another and higher state 
of existence : — all these make a necessary, an 
indestructible, nay, a preeminent part of his very 

* " Man may rather be defined a religious than a rational 
character, in regard that in other creatures there may be some- 
thing of reason, but there is nothing of religion." — Harrington. 
See, also, " The True Plan of a Living Temple, or Man consid- 
ered in his proper Relation to the ordinary Occupations of Life," 
by the author of the " Morning and Evening Sacrifice/' &c, 
where the position of the text is fully sustained. 



344 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

nature. It is this meaning I wish to convey, 
when I advance the proposition that man is es- 
sentially a religious being. 

1. This is asserted, in the first place, on the 
ground, that the idea of a Supreme Intelligence, 
Maker and Ruler of the universe, upon whom 
we and all things depend, is universal ; and 
therefore is suggested by, and makes a part of, 
the very constitution of man. It is possible, and 
not wholly improbable, that there are some ex- 
ceptions to this remark. There may be persons 
who have succeeded in the perilous attempt of 
arguing themselves out of this belief. And there 
may be human beings whose mental and moral 
natures are so little developed, or so entirely im- 
bruted, or so mystified by their own perverse spec- 
ulations, as to be, in a great measure, without the 
idea of that Being whom we denominate God. 
But notwithstanding these exceptions, which are 
of no moment in the view I now wish to pre- 
sent of this subject, it may be safely asserted that 
this idea of God universally prevails. Wherever 
man is, there is this thought, this deep-seated 
conviction. And, as all minds contain it, so all 
languages express it. There is an answering 
term to our word God wherever men communi- 
cate with one another in intelligible signs and 
sounds. And this is proof enough that it natu- 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 345 



rally and necessarily suggests itself to human 
minds. We are so constituted, that we cannot 
help inferring that whatever exists implies a pro- 
ducing cause ; and we are placed in a world, 
where we cannot help seeing a wondrous fabric 
of things around us, which we are sure could not 
have made itself, and a wonderful adaptation of 
means to ends in all that we behold, which we 
know could not have thus arranged themselves. 
Thus it is 

" The heavens declare the glory of God ! 

They ha,ve no speech, nor language, 
And their voice is not heard; 
Yet their sound goeth forth to all the earth, 
And their words to the end of the world." 

The ideas, moreover, of the illimitable, both in 
space and time, of the perfect, the absolute, are 
essential states of human thought, and are, in- 
deed, all implied in the ideas of what is limited, 
imperfect, and dependent. * It requires no learn- 



* See this well stated by Cousin, "Lectures on Locke." 
The thought, however, is by no means original with him. It is 
laid down with great distinctness by Dr. Cudworth (Int. Syst, 
Book V. ch. 5) ; and is illustrated by him in a very apt quotation 
from Boethius (De Consolat. Phil., Lib. III.) : — " Omne, quod 
imperfectum esse dicitur, id diminutione perfecti imperfectum 
esse perhibetur. Quo fit, ut si in quolibet genere imperfectum 
quid esse videatur, in eo perfectum quoque aliquid esse, necesse 
fit. Etenim, sublata perfectione, unde illud, quod imperfectum 



346 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

ing, and almost no reflection, to come to these 
results. And hence it is, as I have said, that 
wherever man is, there is the idea of God. It is 
with him in whatsoever he does, or is. or thinks, 
or feels, or hopes, or fears. As a general law of 
his being, he can no more divest himself of it 
than he can divest himself of his own mind. It 
belongs, moreover, necessarily to all men, in all 
places, in all the different aspects of the human 
character, and in all relations and circumstances. 
Here, then, we find the seminal principle of re- 
ligion, — the idea and belief of a God, laid in the 
very nature of man. There it is, and there it 
must be while man remains man. Were we to 
proceed no further, then, in this inquiry, it is to 
be regarded as an incontrovertible truth, that our 
natures are indelibly stamped with that grand 
'•'central thought' 5 of all religion, — the idea of 
a God * 



perliibetur, extiterit, ne fingi quidem potest." " Whatsoever is 
said to be imperfect is accounted such by the diminution of that 
which is perfect ; from whence it comes to pass, that if, in any 
kind, any thing appear imperfect, there must of necessity be 
something also, in that kind, perfect. For perfection being once 
taken away, it could not be imagined from whence that which 
is accounted imperfect should have proceeded." 

* I intended to insert here a distinct topic, on the universality 
of human belief in a Superintending Providence ; and also one 
on the universal prevalence of prayer among men. including, 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 347 



2. I next observe that man is constituted a 
religious being by that principle of his nature 
called conscience, by which he approves or dis- 
approves of human actions as right or wrong. 
Now, if it can be shown, first, that this principle 
is an inherent part of man's nature : and, sec- 
ondly, that it is, in itself, a strictly religious 
principle ; it will follow, as a necessary conse- 
quence, that man is made, by his conscience, a 
religious being. 

First, then, we are so constituted that we can- 
not help distinguishing some actions as right, 
and some actions as wrong. This perception of 
differences in conduct is universal. It is one of 
the earliest judgments which are exhibited in the 
minds of children ; and is, as many of us may 
have observed, in proportion to their knowledge 
and capacity, singularly just and unerring. In 
the midst of our confused, perverse, and often 
willingly blinded views of right and wrong, we 



of course, a belief that prayer will be heard and answered, or, in 
other words, a belief in the efficacy of prayer. But I plainly 
foresaw that the time assigned to the Lecture would not permit 
me to discuss these points. I refer any who may wish to see 
these topics more ably treated, on the whole, than in any pro- 
fessed theological work within my knowledge, to a novel enti- 
tled " Tremaine," ascribed to the Hon. Mr. Ward, a member of 
the British Parliament, author of " De Vere," and other works 
of fiction. 



348 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

may frequently have occasion to stand rebuked 
in the clear light of their fresh thoughts, 
and take counsel from their pure anfi single- 
minded decisions. This apprehension of right 
and wrong, moreover, is found in every class 
and condition of men, in all ages, and in all 
climes. All languages, as in respe'ct to the idea 
of a God, contain terms which distinctly express 
it, and which will bear no other interpretation. 
We ourselves involuntarily recognize it, in all 
those moral judgments of conduct which we 
pass, and cannot help passing, upon all we see, 
and all we hear, of the conduct of others. It 
manifests itself in that spontaneous homage we 
pay to one class of actions, and the irrepressible 
disgust and reprehension we visit on another, in 
reading the records of past times and men ; and 
it is one great source of the interest we feel in 
the pictured scenes of the drama, of romance, 
and of poetry. It lies, moreover, at the very 
basis of all social order, and of all civil estab- 
lishments ; since, without the guiding light and 
restraining authority of conscience, it is plain, 
all written constitutions and compacts of gov- 
ernment would prove unavailing ; civil laws and 
regulations would want their highest, ultimate, 
and only efficient sanction ; oaths would be as 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 349 

wind ; # there could be no public sentiment 
friendly to public order ; each and all would be 
left to pursue the course their own selfish pas- 
sions and impulses might prompt ; universal mis- 
rule and confusion must be the inevitable result, 
and the whole fabric of society be resolved into 
its primordial elements. This principle, also, is 
presupposed in all direct and specific revelation \ 
since revelation does not create the faculty of 
deciding between right and wrong, but addresses 
itself to man as already possessed of this power. 
Conscience thus rests habitually in every bosom, 
like the mysterious power of the Urim and 
Thummim on the breastplate of the Jewish 
high-priest ; while revelation is that added light 
from God's dwelling-place in heaven, by which 
its hidden virtue is disclosed and manifested.! 
And now, I ask, is a principle thus universal, 
thus necessarily connected with the very condi- 
tion of man in this world, to be accounted for 
on any other supposition than that it is an es- 
sential part of his being ? 



* " Pacts and covenants (into which some would resolve all 
civil power), without this obligation in conscience, are nothing 
but words and breath." Cudworth, Int. Syst., Book V. ch. 5. 

t What the Urim and Thummim were is very doubtful, and 
equally so, how they were consulted. I have adopted, in the 
text, the notion of Josephus, Antiq., Lib. III. cap. 8. 



350 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

But, if further proof be wanting, interrogate 
your own consciousness, look into your own 
bosoms, and you cannot fail to find it. What 
passes there, when you reflect upon your own 
conduct, and that, too, independently of your 
own wills and wishes ? When you have per- 
formed any act of justice, kindness, beneficence, 
public spirit, or magnanimity, do you, can you, 
feel self-reproached and guilty? And, on the 
other hand, if you have neglected the claims of 
others, closed your hearts against the cry of dis- 
tress, and are as conscious as that you live that 
self is the axis on which your whole conduct 
turns, do you, can you, feel a sentiment of self- 
approval ? We all know, that this is not the 
fact, • — that it cannot be. And we all know, 
further, that these decisions of the monitor with- 
in are not taught, — they are not the effect of 
education, but existed before teaching and edu- 
cation began. It is true this principle by which 
we decide on the moral character of actions may 
be neglected, perverted, spurned, silenced, as 
any other native principle may be. It may be 
partially or wholly destroyed, as a man may cut 
off a limb or commit suicide. But nevertheless, 
while he keeps his moral nature unimpaired, he 
can no more escape from his natural apprehen- 
sions of right and wrong, than he can escape 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 351 

from himself. That these apprehensions, in 
other words, that conscience is a necessary prin- 
ciple of our natures, must, then, I think, be ad- 
mitted. 

And, further, (and this was the other point in 
reference to the question before us to be proved, ) 
I observe, that this principle is strictly a re- 
ligious principle. And this appears from two 
other facts in relation to it, both of which are 
matters of consciousness. The first is, that 
conscience not only passes upon human actions, 
as abstractly right or wrong, but, what is a 
necessary consequence of this, it passes also 
upon the agents, as good or evil doers. And 
this, moreover, it does with an authority which 
no man, without doing violence to his nature, 
can resist. We all know that there is this au- 
thoritative tribunal in the breast, which, without 
being consulted, — which, wholly independently 
of our wishes, approves or condemns us as wor- 
thy or unworthy. This is what the Apostle 
meant when he said, that "men are a law unto 
themselves.' 7 The other fact in regard to this 
principle, to which I referred, and which seals 
and completes its authority, as a religious prin- 
ciple, is, that it not only arraigns, and approves 
or condemns us, before its own tribunal, but it 
asserts one further prerogative, — it obliges us 



352 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 



to look forward to another and higher tribunal, 
which will hereafter sanction and enforce all the 
decisions of its own. This enters into the very- 
idea of those judgments of ourselves which we 
call conscience. It makes an inherent and neces- 
sary part of them. It cannot, even in thought, 
be separated from the consciousness of guilt and 
self-approval. And for all this I appeal again to 
the experience of every man, whose nature, as a 
man, has been even tolerably developed, and 
who has not palsied and imbruted it by a long 
course of obdurate sinfulness. Conscience, then, 
not only decides on the moral character of ac- 
tions as right or wrong ; not only approves or 
condemns us, as worthy or guilty, and, in con- 
sequence, as the objects of reward and punish- 
ment here ; but obliges us to look forward to a 
more searching and effectual decision hereafter. 
Thus it is that the voice of conscience is a 
prophetic voice. It anticipates the award of 
that solemn sentence, which is hereafter to be 
passed upon all the " deeds done in the body, 
whether they be good or whether they be bad." 
It is, as it has been said, a plain declaration from 
the Author of our minds, informing us how He 
will deal with us, and upon what the exercise of 
His goodness is suspended.* And it is this 



* Price's Morals, p. 137, 2d edition. 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 353 



necessary reference to an unseen Witness and 
Judge of conduct, to the blessed hopes of future 
reward, to the awful requitals of future punish- 
ment, that completes the whole idea of con- 
science, and endows it with a strictly religious 
authority. # 

The whole moral history of man is a con- 
tinual illustration of the views I have now pre- 
sented of this subject. The sentiment of guilti- 
ness, for example, — disguise it from others as 
we may, by a careless or cheerful outward bear- 
ing, look, and tone, — the sentiment of guilti- 
ness, — disguise it from ourselves as we may at- 
tempt to do, by engagements of business, amuse- 
ment, or frivolity, — the sentiment of guiltiness, 
I say, is one of the most universal that pervades 
human bosoms, that is, where human bosoms 
are left to their own natural movements. Whence 
comes it ? Where, but for that monitor within, 
which is continually " accusing or else excusing 
us " ? What, again, is the resource of men un- 
der this sense of guiltiness ? We see them 
everywhere seeking to make expiation and 
atonement for it, by religious acts or exercises. 
Why are altars built, incense burned, victims 



* See on this whole topic Bishop Butler's Sermon, " Upon 
the Natural Supremacy of Conscience." 



23 



354 THE ARGUMENT FOE NATURAL RELIGION. 



made to bleed, the smoke of sacrifices to ascend, 
long processions drawn out privations and tor- 
tures self-inflicted ? why. above all. the prayer 
for mercy, when all merely earthly retributions 
are over ? Is not the answer plain : They are 
the expressions of the spirit's agony under a 
sense of guiltiness. They are the offerings 
which a wounded conscience prompts : and 
they declare ; as in a voice of many thunders, 
that man is made, by this very conscience, a re- 
ligious being. 

3. Man, in the next place, is constituted a 
religious being by the natural sentiments of his 
heart. This theme is rich and various, and en- 
tirely in point ; but I cannot stop to illustrate it 
any further than may be necessary to show its 
application to the subject under remark. I ob- 
serve, thru, that man is so formed and endowed, 
that he cannot help feeling those sentiments, 
which lead him directly to his God. and of 
which God is the ultimate and most proper ob- 
ject. Thus we are so constituted, that the sen- 
timent called love is awakened in our bosoms 
by the contemplation of moral goodness where- 
soever found. Now. as the only idea we can 
form of God is the sum and substance of all 
that is good in all things else, enlarged and 
perfected beyond all bounds, and centred in one 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 355 

infinitely great and glorious Being, it is jolain, 
that, in the same degree as we lift ourselves up 
to a just contemplation of the character of God, 
the love of God must be "shed abroad in our 
hearts." That this love does not take a more 
entire possession of them is owing to our inat- 
tention, to our neglect of His character and 
claims, and especially to a sense of unworthi- 
ness, which dashes our conception of Him with 
guilt and fear. But that the human heart was 
made to love God, to delight itself in Him, to 
make Him its all in all, is just as clear as that 
the* human heart is made to delight in moral 
goodness. In like manner, the kindred senti- 
ment of religious gratitude is natural to man. 
We are so made, that our hearts turn in thank- 
fulness towards the author of any good done or 
intended for us ; and shall they not melt within 
us at the thought of the rich, free, ceaseless, 
boundless, and, above all, the undeserved good- 
ness of our God ? 

Thus, again, we are so constituted, that wis- 
dom, blended with high moral excellence, calls 
forth the sentiment denominated veneration ; — 
that the thought of Infinite Power, moving as a 
willing slave at the suggestions of Infinite Good- 
ness, produces the sentiment we denominate 
awe ; — that what is sacred and august in char- 



356 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

acter, viewed in connection with our inferiority 
and comparative worthlessness, excites within 
us the sentiment denominated reverence ; — and 
shall not all these sentiments, with a united, 
full, and all-pervading influence, take possession 
of our hearts, when we think of Him, who is 
the highest, best, and worthiest object of them 
all ? In a word, is it not plain that all those 
elevated feelings which peculiarly belong to us 
as men, and ally and identify our souls with 
every thing that is truly great and endearing in 
the universe, find in God, and in Him alone, 
from whom they spring, their proper end and 
aim? Do they not thus appear to be strictly 
devotional, and thus, in their turn and sphere, 
exhibit man to us as a strictly religious being ? 

4. I shall now ask your attention to only one 
more illustration of the argument before us. It 
is, that man is constituted a religious being by 
the inherent wants and capacities of the soul. 

And I first observe, that the soul has aspira- 
tions which soar above all earthly good ; which, 
passing the bounds of space and time, aim at 
the infinite, the perfect, the absolute, the eternal. 
It has native instincts which cannot be de- 
stroyed, which cannot be repressed, which, re- 
fusing to be satisfied by things seen and present, 
reach forward to an unknown and an unimagin- 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 357 

able good. These, too, are necessary and con- 
stituent parts of ourselves. They are inherent 
principles in all minds. They are everywhere 
found. They are everywhere expressed. They 
belong, as a birthright, to the good. The bad, 
though they may pervert, cannot wholly stifle 
them. They arise, unbidden, at all times. They 
go with us into all places. They remain with 
us through all vicissitudes. No man can point 
to any thing in the human mind which is more 
clearly and distinctively a part of it, than those 
hopes and aspirations, for example, which reach 
forward to another state of being. And, as they 
thus necessarily belong to us, so does every thing, 
in the state in which we are placed, serve to 
suggest and confirm them. We are reminded of 
them at every step. That dream of fleeting 
shadows which men call life : the obvious im- 
perfection and incompleteness of this present 
scheme of things, viewed in itself alone ; wor- 
thy aims defeated : the crushing weight of dis- 
appointment and disaster, to which we are every 
moment liable ; the apparent inequalities of life, 
viewed in connection with human desert ; the 
prosperity of the half-good, or of the bad ; the 
success of selfish pursuits ; the temporary tri- 
umphs of high-handed and desperate villany ; — 
all this serves to nourish and sustain these aspi- 



358 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

rations after a happiness not yet vouchsafed, a 
state of rest and peace not yet secured. Hence, 
too, the dissatisfaction that waits on any mere 
earthly enjoyment ! Hence the weariness of 
what we fondly call pleasure ! Hence the dis- 
appointment of what we name success ! Hence 
the desolation of heart, which neither rank, nor 
wealth, nor fame, nor influence over others, nor 
all that this world can give, is able to cheer or 
to irradiate ! Possess what we may, enjoy what 
we may, of these limited and perishable things, 
still, still there remains a void in the heart, a 
great, a mighty, a shoreless, a fathomless void, 
which nothing short of that blessed, though 
dimly revealed state of the soul, which we call 
heaven, — nothing, with solemn awe be it spok- 
en, — nothing but God himself can fill ! 

And, further, these instinctive hopes and aspi- 
rations of the soul are indestructible. They 
awake with the opening faculties of the mind ; 
they go with us into all its subsequent changes ; 
they connect themselves with all our desires, 
plans, and pursuits ; they remain with us while 
a ray of consciousness remains ; they are bright- 
est in the dark hour of death ; and they are our 
strongest support when every thing that belongs 
to earth and time fails. In a word, they are 
rooted and intertwined among all the fibres of 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 359 



human hearts, and they cannot be eradicated, 
but by tearing asunder and annihilating human 
hearts. And is not this a plain declaration, on 
the part of Him who made us, that these hopes 
and aspirations are not without a divine signifi- 
cance ; — that, as they are inherently and essen- 
tially a part of man's nature, so they, like the 
voice of conscience, are prophetical ; and that, 
therefore, we are created and are intended for 
another and a higher state of being, where these 
hopes and these aspirations shall meet with their 
ample and entire fulfilment ? 

And what is thus asserted of the inherent 
wants of the soul is also true of its inherent 
capacities. This world is all too narrow for 
these. They demand higher objects, a wider 
range, and a fuller development. The human 
mind, or intellect, for example, in all its various 
states and acts, still reaches onward and onward 
after further light. Every truth attained, so far 
from satisfying it, is regarded but as the embryo 
principle of truths yet undiscovered ; and he 
who knows the most is only thereby better 
convinced than others of the extent and bound- 
lessness of human ignorance. And if any could 
master the whole world of things known, his 
achievements, in this respect, so far from leading 
him to rest and peace, would prompt the idle sigh 



360 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

for other worlds of intellect to conquer. The 
thirst of the soul for knowledge is unquenchable. 
Nothing on earth can slake it. It pants after, 
and will be satisfied by, nothing less than the 
fountains of truth, yet unrevealed to mortal 
eyes, which spring up in eternal life. 

The same is true of the affections of our na- 
tures. These are all boundless in their scope 
and range. All that they grasp serves to remind 
man of what he possesses not, and their highest 
gratification ends in discontent. Thus it is that 
they comprise, within themselves, the principles 
of infinite growth and infinite expansion. Time 
cannot limit them, earth cannot confine them, 
death cannot destroy them. True friendship, 
pure love, parental tenderness, filial devotion, all 
the sincere, intimate, and deep affections of the 
human heart, are indestructible. They depend 
not for their vitality or endurance on the cir- 
cumstances which first called them forth. They 
survive vicissitude ; survive the absence of their 
objects ; live on when these are dead ; and fol- 
low them in longing hope of reunion, of a re- 
union indissoluble and eternal, beyond the line 
of time. And can affections, thus bearing the 
impress of immortality, thus instinct with the 
principles of everlasting life, find any worthy, 
any fitting scope or range within the limits of 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 361 



this present state ? Nay. is not the very suppo- 
sition fraught with wretchedness ? 

5. Finally, there is also our capacity of moral 
progress. This, like the rest, is endless, ex- 
haustless, ever new, ever growing, never satis- 
fied. Every moral attainment, to him who is 
true to the nature which God has given him, is 
but a "vantage ground" gained for a higher 
and nobler effort. Man, by his very constitu- 
tion, is ever destined to press towards the " prize 
of his high calling," and this is nothing else or 
less than an ever-growing likeness to his God. 

I have thus endeavoured to show that man is 
made a religious being : first, by that relation 
which he cannot but feel to his Creator and 
Sovereign Ruler ; — secondly, by that principle 
of conscience, which sits enthroned, as God, 
within him, and whose voice is declarative of 
the decisions of a higher tribunal : — thirdly, by 
those sentiments of love, gratitude, reverence, 
and awe, which reach forward and centre upon 
God as their most fitting and final object : — 
fourthly, by those hopes and aspirations, which 
not only can find nothing to meet or satisfy 
them in this present state, but are made, by the 
very emptiness and vanity of things here below, 
considered in themselves alone, to seek higher 
objects, a diviner range, and a brighter manifes- 



362 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 



tation in a future world : — and, fifthly, by that 
capacity of moral progress, which is a distinctive 
attribute of man, and which is obviously only in 
its earliest germ here. 

And now I ask if there be any over-state- 
ments in this view of the subject ? I ask, if 
the idea of God, if a sense of moral accounta- 
bility, are not natural to man, and do not enter 
into the very structure and habits of the soul ? 
I ask, whether there be any, in the happiest 
condition of an earthly existence, who do not 
feel, down in the depths of their spirits, a crav- 
ing want, an irrepressible desire for a good not 
yet attained, and which, obviously, this life can- 
not give ? I ask, if all the faculties of their 
inward natures — their capacity of knowledge, 
their capacity of feeling, their capacity of ever- 
growing virtue — can be satisfied with what this 
world has, or can supply ? None, of any serious 
habits of thought, can hesitate in a reply to 
these questions. None, possessing any habits of 
thought and reflection, will venture to gainsay a 
tittle of these statements. They are all as fa- 
miliar to us as household words. 

And, as man is thus essentially constituted a 
religious being, so, yet further, is his religious 
nature his peculiar, his preeminent distinction. 
This thought is extremely important, and im- 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 363 

portant to my argument ; but I have now no 
time to unfold or enforce it. Suffice it to say, that 
man is thus separated from all other creatures 
here below, and he is thus " crowned with glory 
and honor,' 5 in reference to all the other capaci- 
ties of his own being. What were man without 
that grand, that all-comprehending thought, the 
idea of a God ? What were man without the 
arbiter of conscience in his bosom ? ■ — a princi- 
ple, which, as has been said, if it had power as 
it has authority, — had it strength as it has 
right, —would rule supreme over the moral 
world. What are the affections but "springs of 
woe," until they are purified of their earthliness, 
and find an object in God suited to their infinite 
growth and boundless expansion ? What, in 
fine, are those wants, hopes, aspirations, and il- 
limitable capacities of moral improvement, which 
connect the soul with another state of existence, 
but prophetical messages of the real destiny of 
man ? Do not all these constitute his peculiar 
privilege, his great, his emphatical, his highest, 
his crowning distinction ? 

Now, if this be so, — and here we perceive 
the application of the argument before us, — if 
this be so, — and if, further, it be admitted, as 
it needs must, that through all the inferior orders 
of creation it is ascertained as a universal law. 



364 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 

or general fact, that every organ, function, in- 
stinct, has assigned to it its appropriate sphere, 
element, and means of gratification ; and if, yet 
further, as I have now shown at large, man is 
essentially and distinctively a religious being, 
with ideas, states of mind, moral wants, desires, 
and capacities which are not met and answered 
here, — we are obliged to conclude, upon the 
soundest principles of the inductive reasoning, 
that he is destined to a sphere hereafter, where 
these essential principles of his nature shall be 
recognized and fully satisfied. This must be 
admitted, unless we are prepared to say, that 
this correspondence of sphere to organs and 
functions is limited to animal existence, and 
that, while every lower instinct is carefully, I 
had almost said anxiously, provided for, and 
points out invariably the end and aim of the in- 
dividual to which it belongs, the instincts of 
the soul which fasten upon God, and reach after 
immortality, are implanted in vain, nay, worse 
than in vain, — implanted only, and that, too, 
by Him who placed them there, to mock and 
to deceive us. 

I here bring this lecture to a close. While, 
for the reasons before stated, I feel obliged to 
consider the abstract, or a priori argument, how- 
ever derived, or howsoever applied, as, on the 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 365 



whole, of little or no value in establishing the 
great truths or facts of natural theology, these 
are still susceptible of proof which is as con- 
vincing as any evidence whatsoever ; — - of proof 
that cannot be gainsaid or resisted, without 
falsifying all the conclusions of inductive philos- 
ophy, as applied to the phenomena of the physi- 
cal universe ; — of proof, upon which we do and 
must act, in every hour of our conscious exist- 
ence. 

The argument is capable of various applica- 
tions, and the subject suggests some highly prac- 
tical and useful trains of thought. But I dis- 
miss it with a single remark, which I would 
leave, at parting, with entire distinctness on 
every mind, and, especially, I would commend it 
to the reflection of the younger part of my au- 
dience. It is, that religion, in the sense already 
explained, is not a rule or obligation arbitrarily 
superinduced upon the nature of man. It is not 
a mere external bond, which he is at liberty to 
assume or lay aside at will. It is not a contriv- 
ance of the wise to hold in leading-strings the 
simple. It is not an invention of the priests to 
secure for themselves an unhallowed influence. 
But it is a law written upon our hearts, as by 
the finger of Almighty God. It was breathed 
into us with the breath of life. It is indissolu- 



366 THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 



bly interwoven with all the principles of our 
spiritual nature. It is identified with that inspi- 
ration which, at the first, gave us understanding. 
It is as inherently and clearly a part of our very 
being, as the power of thinking, feeling, willing, 
and acting. It is no more to be separated from 
a human being than that consciousness by 
which he is assured of his identity from day to 
day. Nor is this all. It is his preeminent, his 
distinctive, his crowning prerogative. And he. 
therefore, who attempts to live, in any way, in 
a neglect or disavowal of his religious nature, 
not only neglects and disavows a high and im- 
perative obligation, enstamped by God on his 
very constitution : not only is heedless of the 
heaven-inspired and heaven-directed wants and 
calls of his own spirit ; but lives, even in his 
happiest earthly lot. but in a part, and in infi- 
nitely the poorest part, of his mortal being.* 

Let. then, every thing be hallowed by " a high 
consecration " to religious uses. Remember. 

" He that desires to see 
The face of God in his religion must 
Sincere, entire, content, and humble be." 



* " The whole faculties of man must be exerted in order to 
noble energies; and he who is not earnestly sincere lives but 
in half his being, self-mutilated, self-paralyzed.*' — Coleridge's 
Fi end. 



THE ARGUMENT FOR NATURAL RELIGION. 36? 



Let nothing come in competition with the es- 
tablished claims, the rightful supremacy, of your 
religious capacities and powers. Let nothing 
mar, debase, or impair them. Let the idea of 
God sit enthroned, as God, within you. Let the 
authentic and imperative voice of conscience be 
ever, and under all circumstances, implicitly 
obeyed. Honor it. Reverence it. Fall down 
before it. Give it the entire homage of your 
entire soul. Let religious sentiment control and 
sanction all other emotions. Let the fear of 
God cast out all other fear. Let the love of 
God hallow all other love. And let those far- 
reaching hopes and aspirations, which antedate 
the blessedness of a future world, and that ca- 
pacity of moral progress, which is the present 
pledge of a future glory, sanctify to holy uses 
every pursuit, desire, and object in the life that 
now is. 



THE END. 



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